


To Understand Love

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, God Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Romance, Smut, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: Jaskier was a god of three things. First and foremost, music. It was needed before the other two, due to it being the way he performed his purpose.Second, love. It was effectively what everyone believed him to be. Another god of love to serve the people well, filling their lives. But it was far from all he was.Third, he was the fate of hearts. Which was where his purpose came into play. Binding matched hearts, making peoplesee.Of course, a god so full of purpose and destiny could not go without a fated heart himself. And somehow… his heart was both his life and his hurt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 125
Kudos: 628
Collections: Angsty Angst Times, Geralt is Sorry





	1. Fate Of Hearts

“He shall be the music, the love, the fate of hearts. He will be what makes husbands and wives out of people, and he will be what destroys just that. His song will reach all, and it will bring them to their knees, wanting and yearning. His kiss should heal souls, but his lips will only brush his own heart.”

“And what will be his name, Mother?”

“Julian, for the youth he will inhabit. But I suspect he may never call himself that.”

“Why?”

“He will be too bright for such a name. A flower would suit him best, but for one who is wrapped up with music and love, he must choose it himself.”

“It sounds as if he won’t know who he is.”

“He will, for centuries, until you say so.”

“Ah, his destiny is interwoven with a living one, isn’t it?”

“You tell me, Destiny.”

“For the path I see, yes. It will be many centuries yet, until he must meet _him_.”

“Who, my dear?”

“The god of love and the fate of hearts has one to call his own too.”

“ _Ah_. I see… Yes… Very well.”

“Will he be born soon?”

“Out of our golden rivers, yes, he will.”

\--

“What have you _done_?”

Jaskier laughed, bright and airy, with the magic of the gods curling around it gracefully. “I did only what I was meant to do. I brought two hearts that were meant to be together.” He frowned, staring at the dead village below them. “I didn’t mean for _this_. Of course I didn’t. But what else could I do? This is my purpose, what living ones do is beyond my control.”

Destiny glared at him, lips stretched into a sneer. “Your fate and mine are very different sometimes. I meant for this village to thrive, but now I see, your love was meant to destroy it.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair.”

“Of course it is, because the battle killed all but– _Oh_.”

Jaskier grinned large and wide. “All but the ones whose hearts lay with each other in this bloodbath. It’s not my fault if the humans did not want their own to fall in love with an elf. But that should never have sparked _this_. Destiny, why do you make the humans evil?”

Destiny huffed. “It’s not all me. I set paths. Those paths lead to choices humans and other living ones make. If they want to kill on their path, that is not my fault. I bring paths together and tie them, and you bring hearts together.”

“Then asking me what _I_ did was wrong.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Jaskier sat upon the grassy hill they were watching from. It was far from the village, but the blood was clearly seen. “A massacre is coming, isn’t it?”

“Not many elves will survive.” Destiny sat too, patting Jaskier’s knee. “I didn’t know when setting my paths that it would lead here, but this is the beginning of something far worse.”

“Then I will bring love, I will bring music.” He smiled. “I will try.”

Destiny laughed, but it was much darker, older, than Jaskier’s. “Oh, you do not have the years some of us carry. Your destiny is one full of mystery. My darling brother, one day, you will not know yourself.”

Jaskier frowned. “I will be in my true human form, and you will offer me up to my heart.”

“Indeed I will. Mother believes you will understand love better after.”

“After… what?”

“After you experience all the years with your heart. When you kiss for the first time, you will know again.”

“Good.” He bit at his lip. “I will miss my golden lines.”

Destiny ran her finger up his arm, up the lines that ran down him, thick and glowing. They ran right from his collarbone, down his arms, to his fingertips. Upon his forehead was a glowing love heart, as red as blood. His chest was decorated by red and gold, and all their shades, creating a rune that stood for love and fate, with the notes of music woven in-between. His legs were the only part of him not lit up by his lines, but his veins were a richer blue than any creature could hope to see upon themselves.

“You, my brother, are a masterpiece mother worked on for years, while the world moved quick. She wanted you to be perfect.” She smiled, brightly. “And you are. You will bring as much happiness in this world as you bring hurt.”

Jaskier glanced back to the village, where the few survivors of the bloodbath were cleaning up. The two in love hugged each other tight, and were oh so beautiful. Their strength warmed Jaskier, as love always did when he witnessed it. “Love should not hurt others.”

“Some people are not with the person their heart chose.”

“Dearest sibling, I worry that I am truly a god of war.”

“No, no, Jaskier, not at all. You are not like Svalblod or Morrigan.” Destiny cupped his face, staring into his eyes. She was dazzling, her eyes a frightening and bright as life green, her skin dark and rich with beauty, and her hair was thick and curled. “You are cheerful, while they are natured by their war-like ways. No, my brother, you are a light, a sound people hum when their hearts beat bright. You are what I cannot be. A force beyond the paths that I set.”

“But the blood…” He tried to look but Destiny kept her grip firm.

“Do not act like a child, brother. You have seen blood.”

“Not like this.”

“This is only one of many battles your work will cause. What you are, is love and music and the heart’s desire to find true love, and with that, there will be blood.”

“Because living ones are not as pure as they think?” Jaskier frowned, closing his eyes. “Because living ones think their actions are right…”

“Precisely.” Destiny withdrew her hands and stood, reaching out for Jaskier. “Come on, let’s get home before the blood troubles you too much.”

Jaskier took her hand and was gladly hauled up. He spared one last glance to the village. “May you love as strongly as they fought for you not to. Love will win over war in the end, no matter what it costs.”

Their story, and his song that had spurred them, would haunt him, for years to come.

\--

“How does it feel, my child?” Melitele walked up beside him as he stood in a grand hall (he was concealing himself in his fully human form). She herself was dressed as a human woman would, in a sweeping dress, full of gold and blue shades. She was twice the beauty of any soul in the room, but no one would see her, or truly see him, for they could hide from their eyes. “To sing one tune and for love to be truly born?”

Jaskier grinned brighter than any living one could. “It feels like everything, Mother. Like life and death wrapped up in something, something beautiful. That’s what love is, it brings what creates and what destroys together. And if one heart loses the other much too soon, they will yearn out for their beloved. It’s awfully wondrous to witness. On this occasion, I feared the families would dispute. Nobles are unpredictable. But it all went accordingly, and lives were spared.”

Melitele hummed. “Indeed, yes, you have learnt much over the centuries. I am glad I created you. This world needs what you are.”

“Why are you here?”

“What year is it?”

Jaskier tilted his head. “1206. _Oh_.” He could see it, the paths intertwining appeared in front of him, like it had been painted upon his eyes. Destiny could have come herself to remind him, but his mother being here meant more. This was a long path, one that the mother god had a stake in. For fertility would be lost through magic – as it often was – to one who would try everything to be a mother.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg and Istredd,” Melitele whispered, as if it was a promise. “They must destroy each other so they will follow their true paths, instead of running away together too soon.”

“But their hearts will be forever woven, regardless. Despite the cruelty they will cause to one another, because they are fools to listen to others in the first place, to the outside forces Destiny dictates.” Jaskier snarled. “I hate when love of fated hearts is tainted by their paths.”

“You will see much more of that during your work.”

“I wish I could cower away from it, but it is part of what living ones twist love into. They do not deserve your gift, Mother.”

“Nor do they deserve yours.” Melitele sighed, turning away from the festivities. “You will see soon how some hearts are in more pain than anyone would realise.”

Jaskier glanced to the ground, closing his eyes in a wince. He knew, something, that he shouldn’t. Destiny had not spoken, nor had Melitele, but he _knew_. “Like my heart?”

“How–”

“Mother, do not forget what I am.”

She hummed, a mournful thing. “Your heart will hurt you, but it is what is meant, ever since you were a twinkle in my eye.”

He faded from human eyes and allowed his golden lines to appear once more upon his skin. “Ever since I was born from golden rivers, with music and love in my mind, and my heart longing for one that was not yet born.” With a bitter sigh, he looked towards Melitele. “When the day comes, when I must forget who I truly am, do not let me lose my music.”

Melitele smiled. “Never, my child. You will continue to sing your songs, and people will _see_ one another as they always have when you’re present.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Now, you know what you must do.”

“Set them upon a path of heartbreak, yes.” He frowned. “If only their hearts were less matched, for I’m sure they will find happiness with others.”

Melitele shrugged. “Well, Jaskier, you find the hearts of living ones and weave them so tightly, that to any other god, their souls are indistinguishable from each other. When you know them, will you still see them as fated?”

Jaskier tilted his head to the ceiling, tracing the patterns upon it. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “I have changed the fate of hearts before, as the pain was too much for me to bear… But for the right destiny to occur, they must love. Perhaps after I will unravel their hearts if they are changed too much.”

“You are wise, my child. Much wiser than you once were.” Melitele placed a hand upon his cheek, a warm gesture. “I believe in your judgement, and Destiny will understand.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Now, have at it. Fate waits for no god.”

Jaskier smiled and blinked away, standing before Aretuza, ready to set about love and heartbreak. The worst path any heart’s fate could lead to, especially with one so matched.

\--

Jaskier swung his legs against the wall, feeling awfully childish today. A large plan had just been set in motion, and he was terribly giddy from it. “Destiny, come sit!” He glanced over his shoulder, smiling at his sibling. She’d been lurking for a good minute.

Destiny grumbled but complied. “Do you know how much work you’ve created for me with this?”

“It’s a Law of Surprise.”

“A Law of Surprise that leads to your own heart getting tangled up in this mess.” Jaskier widened his eyes and Destiny continued to grumble, “Even worse, this leads to something much bigger than Duny or the unborn Pavetta could realise.”

Jaskier thinned his lips. “Their child… The empire…”

“Indeed. Nilfgaard and death and fire and Cintra and… fuck you, Jaskier.”

“ _Hey_ , I did nothing but my work. Even more so, you set this path centuries back. I only ensured hearts would be correctly tied.”

Destiny clenched her fists, tears welled at the corners of her eyes. “You destroy much with your ties.”

Jaskier scoffed, his lines glowing so bright they’d blind a living one. “And you destroy more with your paths.”

“You bring hearts together that shouldn’t _be_.”

“You’re wrong. Years ago, when I was but a child god, I thought I was doing good, bringing fated hearts together.” He stood, casting his eye over Cintra below them. His chest constricted as he allowed himself to feel the anguish of hearts destroying one another. “But then I realised that hearts could bring about a different future. Those who are cruel, who deny their love, will be punished by _us_. Our way of destiny binds itself, weaves together, becoming a rope too strong to break. Yennefer of Vengerberg is a good example of that. For if she had listened to her heart and denied the false hope of beauty, then this path would not exist, and Nilfgaard would rest.”

Destiny barked a bitter laugh. “Yennefer of Vengerberg was more broken by the heartbreak than you realised.”

“Yes, well… You, mother, and I all make mistakes. That heartbreak wasn’t supposed to lead anywhere but Yennefer going to Nilfgaard.” He lifted his chin. “I underestimated a living one, and I regret that.”

“And now, so many will die because of your tie, and my path.”

“They deny us, living ones, they think they can defy what they were meant for. There are three important players in the decades to come.” He gritted his teeth. “And because of you, and because of the choice my heart makes, I become a pawn.”

Destiny stood too, her lips curled in a disturbing fashion. “If they deny you, brother, they set about their own demise of everything they know, for I will not let them go easy.” She shook her head, chuckling to herself. “I had not realised this was the game we were playing, but now I see. We are not as bright as we thought.”

Jaskier huffed, amused. “You were never bright, dearest sibling.”

“That, I suppose, is true.”

“The Lion Cub of Cintra, Geralt of Rivia, and Yennefer of Vengerberg, will soon be on paths they can never escape from, even if they got on their knees and begged you for mercy, Destiny.”

“And you will soon realise what hurt a heart can cause to their fated.”

Jaskier closed his eyes. He could feel the heart upon his forehead pulse. He was destined for terrible things when it came to his heart, he knew that… But perhaps it would be alright at the end. “How much will I hurt?”

“The heartbreak of a thousand souls, I do believe. I’m not sure what it means, I just know it _is_.”

He nodded, understanding. “Right then…” He lifted his chin, staring up at the sky. “I have hearts to bring together.”

“And I have paths to forge.” Destiny clapped Jaskier on the back. “Until next time, brother.”

“Until next time.” He smiled at her, and they both blinked away.

\--

“This is it,” Jaskier murmured, glancing over to Destiny. She was frowning, not quite ready to say goodbye yet. In their work and travels, they would tease each other endlessly, and have arguments, and give the other hope that they were doing the right thing with every choice they made. And now, Destiny wouldn’t get to do that with him for… twenty-three years, they’d predicted.

“The things you will experience… I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

He hummed, nodding to himself. “I’ll still be me, I’ll still be a god, I just won’t know it. I can’t die at least.”

“But it will seem like you can.” Destiny glanced down, scuffing her toe off the ground.

“So…” he drawled, eyes on the tavern. Posada was looking rather lovely, he hadn’t been here too often in his years. “He’s in there?”

“He is.”

“My heart… Fuck, the years have gone by too fast.”

“They have.” Destiny stepped in front of him, resting her fingers upon his temples. “It’ll be like a click of the fingers. You won’t see me once it happens.”

“But I’ll be standing here, with a lute, and the clothes I picked out?”

“Yes. You will have the memories you described, _exactly_ as you described.”

“Right.” He stared into Destiny’s eyes, smiling at her. “Do it.”

Destiny frowned and looked directly into his soul.

The next thing Jaskier knew was that he was of noble birth, a travelling bard, with rather good looks at that. He grinned and began walking towards the tavern, excited to sing to the patrons, to see what they thought of his more… risky songs.

Of course they didn’t enjoy it, telling him to abort himself. He tucked the bread they threw at him into his pants, because while he was rich at home, on the road he was on little money, and the bread would keep him going for a couple days.

When he looked up, he noticed a man sitting in the corner. White hair, leather covering him. Alone. A force panged within Jaskier’s heart, as if it wanted to reach out and latch on. As if destiny itself wanted to drag him over to the man’s table. It was overwhelming, and his mind went blank as his heart filled with so much… _so much_.

He couldn’t explain it. Wouldn’t want to. For the mystery of the feeling had him standing. Had him walking over, as if his legs weren’t his own, as if he didn’t have a choice. He took a drink on his way, utterly bewitched in this one moment, feeling enchanted. His eyes could and would not glance away even for a second. No, this man had his entire attention, and Jaskier wouldn’t leave his side, no… Not for a long while, that he knew, before even saying a single word.

He leant on a pillar, and opened his mouth. “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the man gruffly said, turning his head away.

Well, Jaskier had always loved a challenge.

\--

“Here, apologies about your other one,” Filavandrel said, presenting Jaskier with a very lovely, well crafted, beauty of a lute.

Jaskier carefully took the lute into his hands. “Thank you very much.” He smiled, tracing his fingers over its golden lines. “I will treasure it.”

Filavandrel frowned. “You seem… familiar.”

Jaskier’s brow knitted as he swung the lute over his shoulder. He cast a glance back to Geralt, who was speaking to Torque. “Familiar?” He looked back to Filavandrel. “This is my first time in Posada, how can I be familiar?”

“Just something about you. What’s your name?”

“Jaskier.”

Filavandrel raised an eyebrow, asking for more. He knew it wasn’t his birth name… Few ever caught onto that.

“Julian.”

At that Filavandrel’s lips twitched. “A strong name. Many are called that after the god of music, love, and fated hearts. Suiting, for a bard.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched, and his skin burnt with an itch. Like something was trying to burst from him, a recognition perhaps. He thinned his lips, shaking his head violently. “I, uh, thank you.”

Filavandrel said no more, but a knowing look resided in his eyes. As they were escorted out, that look remained, and it irked Jaskier to no end. Was it the unexplainable reaction? It had to be. But why he’d had that reaction in the first place was a more pressing matter, so pressing that Jaskier swept it under the rug to let it fester, rather than acknowledge it.

As he walked beside Geralt, he could feel something change, and when Geralt followed him after Jaskier made a promise to him, it was as if the world brightened just a tad more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be every other day!
> 
> Come chat to me on [tumblr! :)](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


	2. God of Music

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked as he sorted through his potions and stocks on the bed.

Jaskier, who was lounging on a lone chair, legs kicked up on the table, was composing. Without his lute. He did this sometimes. Just _sang_. But it came out perfectly, as if his voice could simply shift things in the world, as the words popped into his mind. Currently, he was whispering them, and had been getting steadily louder as the minutes ticked on. He didn’t know _why_ he was doing it, but Geralt speaking had ripped him out of it.

It was like something had dropped out of the sky and smashed on impact when he’d stopped.

“I’m… singing.”

Geralt’s eyebrow twitched as he set a few potions aside. “Are you?”

“Yes…?”

“Sounds as if you’re telling a story in tune rather than singing.”

Jaskier smiled slightly, tipping his head towards the ceiling. “You can do a lot of things in tune. Even scream.”

“Hm.”

“Why do you care anyway?” He thinned his lips, tossing his head sideways to look at Geralt. “It’s not often you take an interest in my process.”

Geralt shrugged, seemingly disinterested, eyes still on his potions. “You only do this in towns.”

That couldn’t be right. That was a pattern, a pattern he wasn’t consciously aware of. “I… do?”

“Yeah.” Geralt looked to him now, eyes slightly narrowed. “You don’t realise?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“What is it, that I do?” Jaskier kicked off the table, his chair swinging back as he smoothly moved to stand. “ _Exactly_?”

Geralt pursed his lips, shifting off the bed to stand as well. “You tell a story of two people, usually. It’s like you speak about them falling in love. I know it’s not about you, because their stories change, every time, and none of it would match with you.” He glanced towards Jaskier’s lute, that was lying against the wall. “You never use your lute, and your voice… It’s like it carries its own music.”

“Carries its own music?” Jaskier furrowed his brow. He’d been travelling on and off with Geralt for years now, five to be exact. There were few things in the world that could do that, humans weren’t one of them. “Like a siren?”

“No. Not like anything I have ever heard.” Geralt suddenly looked unsure of himself, which was a rare feat when it came to things that didn’t seem human. “Maybe I mishear you.”

“You don’t mishear _anything_ , Geralt.” Jaskier took a breath and paced over to the window. The night was in full swing, the streets were essentially empty. “I’m human…”

“I know. You smell human, you look human.”

“But?” He could hear that word in Geralt’s tone.

“But your voice doesn’t need a lute to have music.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed deeper, if anything to cool the burning feeling upon his skin. Like something was trying to break out. “It’s just tune and tone and words, _nothing more_. Maybe I’m subconsciously making sounds that appear to be music to you.”

“Maybe.” And Geralt sounded halfway convinced.

To be honest, he believed it himself. If he hadn’t realised how often he was doing it, then surely Geralt wasn’t paying full attention to him. It didn’t mean anything.

They both brushed it aside and left it at that.

When they got breakfast the next morning, the barkeep cried in delighted panic at how the whole town had appeared to change overnight. There had been broken marriages and new loves born in a matter of hours. A marriage that had lasted a decade had broken apart (the barkeep had explained how they were both unhappy). It was as if love itself had swept in and showed the people how to love properly, one patron had said.

It was very strange indeed.

“Magic?” Jaskier whispered to Geralt as they ate.

Geralt shrugged, his lips twitched upwards a tad. “Sounds like a mage had some fun.”

“Harmless, thank the gods.”

“Hm.”

They left that day, and Jaskier felt a warmth of unexplainable pride bloom in his chest at the sight of happy couples walking around the town.

\--

“And yet… here we are.”

“Hm.”

Well… that was one way to end that tender moment, but at least he didn’t deny it. Jaskier knew fine well they both needed each other. Geralt could refute Jaskier all he wanted on if they were friends, but _this_? It was different. It meant something else entirely.

Geralt glanced all around. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway you’re not going tonight as a witcher.” He smiled brightly as Geralt glared at him intensely. But he could glare all he wanted, there was no chance of him going in his armour, oh no.

This was a banquet, at Cintra’s court no less. He deserved to be dressed in good clothes any lord would be glad to be caught dead in.

“I don’t understand your reasoning for me going,” Geralt said, his glare softening.

Jaskier sighed and stood up, grabbing the stool, and placing it behind Geralt. He circled the tub and grabbed some soap, making his way back around to sit on the stool. “I bought some nice clothes for you, because I’m kind, and you deserve to have some fun. To _relax_.”

“Hm.”

He rolled his eyes and lathered up the soap. “Stop being so… _so_. You fought a big huge beast. Ugly fucking selkiemore.” He handed Geralt the soap, and with his own soaped up hands, began dragging his fingers through Geralt’s hair, giving it a good rub. “It’ll be relaxing.”

“You mentioned that lords will be trying to gain Princess Pavetta’s hand all night.”

“While true, the ale is lovely in Cintra and the wine is even better. More so when it’s sourced for the _royal family_ , Geralt.”

Geralt hummed as he scrubbed himself with the soap, getting that blood off cleanly.

“I’m not hearing a no…” Jaskier twisted his mouth as he pulled a long stretch of selkiemore from Geralt’s hair. He’d managed to get most of the blood out now, only a few bits left to do. He tapped Geralt’s shoulder, and he handed back the soap, to which Jaskier lathered up his hands again, giving the soap to Geralt once more. “It’s one night. I really want you to be there.”

“ _Why_?” Geralt half hissed.

“Because as much as you like to protest, we’re friends, and I want my friend to have a good night. I promise it will be nothing short than entertaining. Nobility falling over themselves to try and gain Princess Pavetta’s hand? Why _wouldn’t_ you want to see that?”

“Hmm.”

“Considering?”

“Nobility making fools of themselves does sound interesting.”

“Exactly.” Jaskier gave Geralt’s hair a good scrub and soon patted his shoulder. Geralt sunk under the water, and the newly wettened hair made it easier to get it perfectly clean. He requested the soap one last time and soaped it up, making sure it would be positively puffy during the banquet.

“I’ll go with you,” Geralt grit out, sounding as if it actually hurt him but… well, there was a tone underneath, fondness. Jaskier _just_ managed to pick it out. _Oh_ … Oh no, oh gods, Geralt was _pretending_ to be an arse. Of course he was. Because he was far more dramatic than anyone thought.

“Brilliant.” Jaskier patted his shoulder and got up, walking to one end of the room.

He began cleaning up as Geralt rid himself of all the blood on his body, making his skin almost shine with all the lovely salts and soaps that had been used. Meanwhile, the water looked as if someone had bled out in it, which was awfully lovely imagery.

Once Geralt was done and had gotten changed, Jaskier grinned, he’d done better than he’d thought. Geralt looked lovely, _magnificent_ even. Sure the clothes weren’t entirely a perfect fit, but they weren’t tight and uncomfortable either. Just right. Geralt deserved something nice every once and a while, and this… was the best thing Jaskier could think of, at the moment.

The hall the betrothal activities were taking place in was grand, and Jaskier had expected exactly what he saw. Like he was already aware of what it looked like. Despite never playing in a court as royal as this. In a way, it felt as if he was waiting for work to be completed, _at long last_. But the feeling was fleeting, and he was once again left with a vague recollection of something he shouldn’t be aware of.

Oh well, he was a creative after all.

“Stick close to me?” Jaskier asked as they both headed further in. “I brought you here so we can have a nice night together.”

“I know, Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, softly. And was that an upturn to his lips?

“Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!” a man boomed, raising a tankard.

“Oh, shit,” Jaskier murmured. Well, there went Geralt having a relaxing night. Even though Jaskier had done great work to improve his reputation, people were still wary, unfortunately.

“I haven’t seen you since the plague,” the man said in a joyful fashion.

“Good times, Mousesack,” Geralt replied.

Mousesack laughed, raising his tankard again. “I’ve missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair,” He placed a hand at Geralt’s shoulder, “but now the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost.” He looked at Geralt’s clothes with a furrow at his brow. Oh, of course, a man with no style. “Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?”

Oh, _ho_ , definitely no style indeed. A silk trader, especially a sad one, would only wish to look as good as Geralt did right now.

Geralt looked to him, his eyes softer than Jaskier was expecting. “I like it,” he whispered, as quiet as a mouse. Was he… reassuring Jaskier?

Surely not?

Mousesack placed his hand at Geralt’s other shoulder, pulling him away slightly. “Walk with me.”

Geralt shook his head and stepped back. “I promised to spent time with Jaskier tonight.” He gestured towards him, and Mousesack looked at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah, I see…” He smiled at Geralt, dropping his hand. “I’ll have to catch you later in the evening, when your friend is playing.” He nodded to the lute. “I’ve heard many a story, I’ll eagerly await your performance.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “I hope I can please.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ve heard Princess Pavetta is an avid follower of your work.”

“She’s the reason I was hired actually. She sought me out.”

Mousesack nodded, intrigue clear in his eyes. “I would not have expected that.”

Jaskier spread his arms in a half shrug. “I suppose my hard work has paid off.”

Geralt snorted. “Hard work, that is an understatement.”

“How so?”

“It’s your life, that’s how hard you work.”

Mousesack broke out in a grin. “Giving out more of that wisdom I see. We should hear more of it.”

Geralt hummed in response.

Jaskier stepped closer to Geralt. “I have to set up, come with me?”

Mousesack grabbed a tankard from somewhere and handed it to Geralt. “Have a good night.”

Geralt took the drink and nodded. A second after, Jaskier was dragging him away to the marble platform by the stairs. He placed his lute down and took it out of its case, giving it the once over. All seemed well and in tune, thank goodness. Everything _had_ to be perfect tonight. This could very well make or break his entire livelihood.

“How hard is it, to get to this point?” Geralt asked, from the wall he was leaning upon.

Jaskier traced the edges of his lute with a wistful smile. “I started my career at what, eighteen?” He glanced to Geralt, eyes bright. “When I created my most famous song. It’s been nine years since then. To play, not only in Cintra’s court, but at Princess Pavetta’s betrothal? It’s bloody hard, most bards will never have the chance in their lifetimes.”

“Hm. Has it really been nine years?”

“Yes, believe it or not, it has.” Jaskier laughed as he looked towards Geralt and his pinched brow. “You do know what year it is, _right_?”

Geralt sipped at his ale. “Yes.”

“Really?” He folded his arms. “What year is it then?”

With a scrunch of his nose, Geralt said, “1249?”

“Okay, that had to be a guess.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Jaskier tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Let’s weigh up the facts. You scrunched your nose, which is a sign of uncertainty, of deep thought. And you drank your ale before saying yes or no.” He smiled. “I’m saying it was a lucky guess.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder, lips upturned. “And you’d be wrong.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Let’s go with that.” He turned to face the crowds, narrowing his eyes. Where were the band? And had they seen him yet?

“What’s your plan?”

Jaskier caught the eye of one member of the band, tilting his head backwards in a quick flick. The member seemed to understand, grabbing the attention of the others. He glanced to Geralt. “Huh, wha– Oh. I was thinking of singing a tribute to Queen Calanthe first, then do a few jigs, before maybe taking requests from the nobles.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Is singing a tribute to Calanthe a good idea? She’s a warmonger, do warmongers like tributes?”

“Usually, yes. But, actually, I think you’re right.” He tipped his head to the ceiling, thinking on it. “You know what, Geralt, that’s a brilliant point. I shall start with the jigs first.”

“Hm. Good, might save my ears.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Save your ears from what? Your own nonsense?”

Geralt went to speak again, but Jaskier was saved by the band, who had all crowded around him. With a smug glare shot Geralt’s way, and a smile guided towards his friends for the night, he laid out his plan. Jigs, then requests. And he ensured all of them were well aware of his own songs, as they had been preparing for the last few days. Jaskier had even given them sheet music for his originals.

They, fairly quickly, got into a discussion about where everyone should stand, which was soon interrupted by loud trumpets announcing Queen Calanthe’s arrival. Jaskier dove for his lute as the band members got into position. He settled on the second step, put his lute on, and waited for the signal.

“Bard! Music!” she shouted, after droning on about why she was late, and covered in blood.

He turned to the band with a grin. “Three, four…”

They burst into a jig, and that seemed to please Queen Calanthe, as she didn’t speak another word towards them. Things were going pretty smoothly, up until the jig came to a close, when one lord rather violently smashed his tankard onto a table, getting into a heated argument about manticores. How many stings one had. They very quickly almost got into a fight, when Queen Calanthe intervened, calling on Geralt to declare which one was right.

Jaskier knew fine well that nothing good would come of this, and it certainly didn’t. It was funny, really, when Geralt checked with Jaskier, to see if he should, and when Jaskier shook his head, he backed down, only to completely lose it, telling everyone in the room that the elf story was a complete lie. Which promptly earned him a seat by Queen Calanthe’s side for painting himself in the shadow of his failures.

Except, it wasn’t his fault at all. It was Jaskier’s, and he would have said so, if it wouldn’t risk his entire reputation. He raised his eyebrows at Geralt when he passed him. He shouldn’t have riled the nobles. That was his own doing alone.

The night went on, and many jigs were played. They of course had to stop when lords went up to make their speech about why they should have Princess Pavetta’s hand. All spoke nonsense, and Jaskier didn’t care much for it. But Queen Calanthe’s rebuttals were hilarious, and so were the heckles of the other lords. He had a chat with the band, and decided they should play Fishmonger’s Daughter next. If only to help brighten Princess Pavetta’s mood, if that was at all possible.

When he was free to sing next, he stepped towards the middle of the room, beginning to sing. Normally, the song was very short. Everyone knew that. But Jaskier had agreed with the band to make it three times as long, and he truly couldn’t wait to get stuck in.

He moved around the room with grace as he sang the first verse, hopping at the appropriate times, winking into the crowd. People were clapping along, some even banged their fists, or stomped their feet. It was honestly wonderful, how people got involved with his songs, this one in particular. It was like having an extra instrument in his arsenal.

As the first rendition of the chorus came to an end, he heard Queen Calanthe shout for Eist. Jaskier was busy putting on a performance, so he couldn’t spare much curiosity for what was going on, but he did notice Eist make his way up to Calanthe’s grand chair, and then… Well, he was in her lap and they were, kissing…? What the fuck?

Jaskier continued to sing, but became increasingly distracted as he noticed many others doing the same thing. People sitting in each other’s laps, kissing, or having loud discussions pressed up against one another. Some were even putting hands where one shouldn’t during a banquet.

It was only when he was about to get into the second rendition of the chorus, that Jaskier noticed he couldn’t hear the other instruments. A quick twirl around revealed that the band had their hands busy with something else, mainly, each other.

Jaskier awkwardly spent the next few moments finishing up the song, as everywhere he looked, he could see people completely ignoring the banquet. Even Queen Calanthe herself. He had… no idea what was happening, but he was entirely ready to blame it on magic. Few people weren’t affected, and that included him, a good few nobles, three guards, Princess Pavetta, and Geralt.

He finished the song and rushed over to the marble stand, as Geralt walked down the steps to meet him. It was – frankly – both ridiculous and surreal. The whole banquet was… He didn’t really know what to say. Few things ever left him speechless, but this was something else entirely.

“What did you do?” Geralt asked, looking around.

“What did _I_ do?”

“This only started happening when you sang that gods awful song.”

Jaskier gaped at him. “Are you truly trying to blame my song?”

“Yes.” Geralt furrowed his brow. “No. But I don’t think this is magic either.”

“It’s stronger than that.” At Geralt’s sudden lost look, Jaskier shrugged. “It feels like there is something happening, something beyond mortal control.”

“You think… Are you trying to say this is _destiny_?”

“What else would you call this?” Jaskier glanced over the crowd. “The people, they seem to match, in some way, I can see it, feel it…” He noticed two of the lords who were vying for Princess Pavetta’s hand, grinding against each other. _Well_ … “So, those lords seem more interested in each other than Pavetta.” He pointed towards them.

Geralt scoffed. “Power over love.”

“Love has won, though. Or, lust. It’s probably lust.” One of the lords hid his face in the other’s neck, and it was as if they were moving as one. “It’s _definitely_ lust.”

“Why aren’t we affected?” Geralt asked, his voice quiet.

“Few aren’t.” Jaskier nodded to all he could pick out. “I guess we got lucky in whatever this is…”

In the middle of all the chaos, the doors burst open, and a man came into the room, clearly expecting resistance, but the guards were busy, and so was everyone else really. The knight himself, seemed confused, judging by his movements, as his face was covered. And still, the spell was not broken. The man made his way into the middle of the room, and by some will of destiny, Calanthe removed her mouth from Eist’s lips for a second.

Her scowl spoke of displeasure, not at the knight appearing, but due to being interrupted. If Jaskier was reading her facial expression correctly.

“Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty, but what the hell is going on?”

Now that the man had spoken, the three guards that had been spared by… what was going on, surrounded him, weapons drawn.

“Please! I come in peace,” he called out. “I need but one moment of your time.” He knelt down, and somehow, the night had changed direction once again. This was a day of great moments, and terrible decisions, Jaskier could feel it in his bones. “I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald and I have come to claim your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Calanthe tilted her head to one side, making no move to dispose of the Eist in her lap. “A knight… of no renown… from a backwater hamlet… who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?”

“I apologise, Your Majesty. A knight’s oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell.”

One of the guards that had surrounded him knocked the helmet off and– Well, okay. This banquet was going from one incredible high to another. Jaskier wasn’t sure if this was real or if he was dreaming. A dream was plausible, considering everything. Because Urcheon, was a cursed man. Half hedgehog, half human it appeared.

“Slay this beast!” Calanthe shouted, still with Eist in her lap.

Jaskier supposed that was to be expected, Calanthe hated anything different, as much as many humans did.

Urcheon dodged the first attack, knocking the guard down. He elbowed the other two and disarmed one, pointing the sword towards the table. It wasn’t as if he was going to need it to defend himself, most of the guards were still, uh, busy. Most weren’t even paying attention to what was going on.

“Lioness of Cintra,” Urcheon began, “I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise.”

Maybe out of nervousness, or maybe out of the sheer insanity of the night, Jaskier began to hum. Geralt eyed him, mouth twisted, but Jaskier didn’t care, he had to… For some reason. Besides, Geralt was quickly distracted as _some_ (but not all) guards seemed to snap out of their lust filled activities, and withdrew their swords, attacking Urcheon.

But Urcheon took them down one by one, outnumbered by a good few people, he was managing, until one guard came out of nowhere and knocked him down. A sword skittered over to where Jaskier and Geralt were standing.

While Jaskier hummed, Geralt picked up the sword. And words fluttered in his mind as a candle whipped beside him. ‘ _I will give you this night, but you will not be you, brother_.’

A guard raised his halberd above Urcheon, but before it came down, Geralt chopped the thing right in half. Giving Urcheon a weapon. There was a brief pause before Calanthe called for them both to be killed.

But even still, too many guards were distracted, and showed no signs of stopping. Jaskier continued to hum.

Urcheon and Geralt did have a fight on their hands though, and the people that didn’t have someone to kiss the living daylights out of, joined the fight. Jaskier watched as Eist removed himself from Calanthe’s lap and made his way down the steps, withdrawing his dagger. He fought _with_ Urcheon and Geralt, claiming that if the people killed them, they had to kill him too.

Jaskier was genuinely surprised he managed to pry himself away from whatever magic had brought people together.

And as he continued to hum, words sneaking into his melody – so that it was pretty much music all on its own – Calanthe got up, retrieving an abandoned sword, joining the fight. Soon after that, Geralt spun around, only to stop still as Calanthe’s sword faced him.

“Stop,” she said, then shouted, “Stop!”

Everything halted, well the fighting did at least. Those who had been affected by the… love magic? Lust magic? By their own hormones? By whatever… were still busy with each other. Jaskier let his humming quiet down, but couldn’t stop himself, and he didn’t know why.

In the next moment, Pavetta ran to Urcheon and embraced him, her hands on his cheeks. Everything was explained swiftly by Urcheon, to the people that were listening, mainly to those who had been involved in the fight. It wasn’t surprising to Jaskier to hear that he’d been cursed as a boy, and that he claimed the Law of Surprise when he saved King Roegner from certain death, finding out after that Pavetta was the surprise.

In fact, as soon as Jaskier heard the words, it was like he’d known prior…

Many people got involved to defend Urcheon and Pavetta, to defend destiny itself, for Calanthe surely did not want to unleash its wrath. But… unfortunately, Calanthe was one of the many humans that was willing to risk it for her own beliefs. And she had sealed her fate then and there for tonight.

More conversation was had, and Geralt was asked if he was afraid of destiny. He said no, but Jaskier felt like laughing (if he wasn’t humming), for he was destined to garner the true knowledge of what denying such a power entailed. It was great hurt, for everyone involved.

Pavetta cupped Urcheon’s neck. “I love Duny, Mother. I will marry him. I will finally be free.”

A moment of peace passed over, and Jaskier felt like sighing out with relief as, for once, maybe bloodshed would be stopped early on. Calanthe gave her sword to Eist, and she extended her hand to Duny, only for her to lean close to his ear, whispering something…

A denial of destiny probably.

She pulled back, withdrawing a dagger, which inched so close, no one could move fast enough to save Duny. Yet–

“NO!” Pavetta screamed, and everyone in the room was blown backwards, towards the walls.

Jaskier slid back on his heels, however, managing to not go flying back against a wall himself. He chuckled slightly as he crouched down, shielding himself from the wind. Everyone had been broken from the lust filled activities, and a new power controlled the hall.

He watched as Pavetta held Duny’s hands, chanting in Elder, and Jaskier straightened up, spreading his arms slowly. He sang, music coming from his lips, aah’s and ooo’s. Pavetta and Duny rose up into the air, as their journey was finally, _finally_ , coming together in this one moment, this fateful night.

The wind blew fierce, keeping everyone from getting near, and Jaskier tilted his head back, his eyes slipping shut as the music burst from his soul, emitting from his throat, but no man could make such sounds. Not those of instruments that only belonged in the lands of gods. He could feel Geralt encroach on them, and he increased the deeper melody of his song. For this was destiny at work. And music went hand in hand.

Mousesack began to contain the chaos, and Jaskier sung even louder, his song becoming all the more dramatic, as Geralt did what he had to do. As the gods demanded. Jaskier let his song trail off all too quickly as Pavetta and Duny came crashing down. It was a phenomenal moment, that would lead to the next step in a decades long process. Jaskier smiled as he straightened up, and all thoughts of destiny left his mind as quickly as the song did.

Calanthe approached Pavetta carefully, and Jaskier half held his breath. _No more bloodshed, please, he’d seen enough from nobles, please no more._ And, as if his wish were granted by the gods, Calanthe hugged Pavetta. As she did so, she spoke of her mother’s gift, thinking that it had skipped Pavetta as it did her. And Jaskier smiled, the power in that bloodline…

She loudly proclaimed that destiny had spoken, and that the Law of Surprise would be honoured. Thank the gods. They were to be married. And so were Calanthe and Eist. To which Jaskier beamed. It had been a plan, after all. A certain person may have bashed it in the past, but it was two birds with one stone.

“There will be two vows here tonight! I assume that’s agreeable,” Calanthe said. No one seemed to disagree. “Delightful.”

The wedding was a fairly quick affair once everyone had been given candles and were instructed to stand in a circle. Pavetta and Duny were bound by Calanthe’s sash, and were married. Then, Duny turned back into a man. Cursed no more. He and Pavetta kissed beautifully, clearly overwhelmed with joy at Duny having turned back.

“What has happened?” Calanthe asked, confusion in her tone.

“I think your blessing of this marriage…” Mousesack began, “has fulfilled a destiny. The curse has been lifted.”

Indeed it had. Destiny would be pleased, as was he. It had taken long enough after everything. All the work that had gone into it, had paid off. He immediately shook the thoughts from his mind, they simply made no sense. Stranger still, was that it felt as if he could feel destiny curling around, lurking in the shadows.

Pavetta and Duny shared more kisses at that.

Jaskier beamed, what a historic night this had become. Truly the workings of a great ballad, but he already knew their song would be one without words. “I feel even the god of love would be touched by this display.”

Pavetta looked to him, smiling. “I would hope so.”

Jaskier gave a curt nod, eyes closing softly as he did so, a content smile to his lips. “Of course he would.” He placed his candle down and turned away. The crowd parted and he walked through.

There was a whisper he heard, from a short lord, asking someone if that was a light he saw coming from the bard’s hands.

Jaskier looked to his hands as he stepped into the hall and found no light. He had no idea what the short lord was referring to. He stayed at the doorway though, watching as Geralt went to leave as well, probably to follow Jaskier.

Shaking his head he whispered, “ _No_ , dear heart, stay where you are, Destiny needs you now…”

“No, Wait!” Duny called out, standing abruptly. “Wait. You saved my life. I must repay you.”

Geralt shook his head. “You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same.” He shrugged, turning away again. “I want nothing.”

“No, please. Please, Geralt of Rivia, do not feel like you’re doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life dept.”

Jaskier smiled. _Come on_ … He’d once promised to be here when it happened, he was keeping that promise now.

“Fine. I…” He paused for a second, this was a hard choice, but it was already made, “claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise. Give me that which you already have but do not know.” He turned away again, but Geralt of Rivia could never truly walk away from any of this now.

Destiny’s wrath would soon show him the errors of his ways.

“No!” Calanthe called out, horrified. “What have you done, Witcher?”

“Fear not, Your Majesty, if I’m seen in your kingdom again, it’ll be to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new pup.” Smug bastard didn’t know what was coming for him. “Destiny can go fu–”

Pavetta vomited and Jaskier grinned with sheer joy. The Child Surprise.

“Pavetta?” Calanthe said, softly. “Are you…? Oh…” She looked to Geralt with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, and that was it, done and dusted. He began walking away, and Jaskier stepped into view.

“You know what you’ve done, right?” he asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“I’ve done nothing.”

Mousesack followed, and Jaskier allowed them to have their conversation. With Geralt largely calling bullshit on the whole affair. Denial did not suit him, it never had. He did wish Mousesack well, since he was going to stay. At least _he_ was following his path, rather than defying it. And… _oh_. He chuckled softly.

“Destiny…” he whispered, amused. He was surprised it had taken so long. “Let me forget again.”

She came down from the ceiling in a mist, only visible to his eyes. The dust on the floor fluttering in the wind she caused. “Well, if you stopped trying to remember so much, I wouldn’t have to get involved.”

“Still, this was a good evening to feel myself again. I’m glad I got to witness it with a slight knowledge of who I am.” He glanced into the hall, frowning. “There is so much more to this than meets the eye.”

“You did work hard to bring this long tale of tragedy about, dear brother. You deserved to see its beginning.” She reached out for him. “Do you truly not want to give up this charade now?”

“There is more work to be done, as you well know, and I cannot be present with my true memories.” He smiled at her. “It’s only another fourteen years. That’s nothing.”

“Without you, it’s forever.”

“Do it, Destiny. Make me forget again.”

She did, and Jaskier followed after Geralt as he left. Mousesack tried to catch Jaskier, to stop him, but he shook his head and continued forth. Anything he had to say meant nothing. All that mattered was ensuring Geralt was okay.

“So, that was crazy,” he said as he reached Geralt’s side.

“Hm.”

“What was the worst part? I didn’t much like my band abandoning me.”

Geralt huffed, but it sounded at least _a little_ amused. “That seems normal now, compared to the rest of the evening.”

“It does, doesn’t it? This night has had more magic than a banquet ever needs.”

“Out of all of it, what I didn’t understand was, why did you leave, after talking about the god of love?”

Jaskier thinned his lips. He… didn’t know. So he went for the closest thing to the truth. “I wanted us to leave before anything else could happen.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I was too late, wasn’t I?”

Geralt sighed out, walking faster. “Why a Child Surprise?”

“Because Cintra might one day be under threat, and you’ll be there to protect a princess who might have a great power, just like her mother.”

“You make it sound like it will happen.”

“One day, Queen Calanthe will pick a fight she’s too weak to win.” He frowned, glancing to Geralt. “With her ways, it _will_ happen eventually.”

Geralt nodded as they stepped outside, into the cool night. “And you think I should be there when it happens, to protect the child?”

“Of course you will be, no matter what you think now. Because you’re a good man, Geralt. Even though you’re risking destiny’s wrath, you’ll be there when it matters most, I have no doubt.”

“You should have doubt, I’m not as honourable as you think.”

“And _that_ is a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Don’t pretend to be what you’re not.” Jaskier huffed a laugh. “I know you better than that, better than anyone.”

“Even so, you don’t know everything about me.” He glared at Jaskier, as if daring him to counter.

He had a _fantastic_ counter. He knocked Geralt’s shoulder with a smile. “Maybe not, but I still know you, as terrifying as that may seem to you.”

Instead of replying, Geralt changed the subject. “Why were you humming so much after everyone began acting weird?”

“Nervousness?”

Geralt shook his head. “We both know it wasn’t that. It’s not one of your nervous habits.”

If not for the current conversation topic, Jaskier would have quipped that Geralt _knew_ him just as much as he knew Geralt. “I wish I could tell you. I think I was perhaps hoping another type of music in the hall would stop everyone from acting so strange.”

“Hm. That didn’t work out.”

“No, it did not.” Jaskier bumped shoulders with Geralt again. “What do you say to a nice bottle of wine when we get back to the inn? I’ll get Erveluce.”

Geralt smiled ever so slightly. “That sounds good, Jaskier.”

“Good.”

He felt strangely tense walking next to Geralt now. He somewhat hoped the wine would help. He could feel a wrath circle, destiny… Walking away from Cintra, from this Child Surprise, it would bring no good. At all. Pain would follow, and blood would one day paint the streets.

For now, Cintra could rest easy, knowing a newborn Princess was on the way.


	3. Jealousy

“And be careful!” Jaskier called out to Geralt as he ventured out into the clearing in the woods.

He didn’t reply, of course. It was a griffin, what possible harm could it do? Jaskier rolled his eyes. He was sure it could do plenty, but Geralt was confident, and he supposed he had to trust that in the end. Though, there had been a close call of late, and it had gotten him all worried.

Roach scuffed her hooves off the ground suddenly, and the fire Jaskier had been stoking blew left and right quite violently. The wind had certainly picked up. Even though the day had been so calm, for a good while. He shrugged it off, it was probably nothing.

His mind drifted, and he thought on two people. A red-haired beauty of a mermaid, and a gorgeous green-eyed elf. Perfectly matched, as fated hearts were. Ah. He saw now.

“You know,” a deep voice said, “you’d think, after a while, you’d notice when a breeze is not just a breeze.”

Jaskier smiled and stood, brushing himself down. “Why have you made me remember again?”

Destiny appeared to him, her hair swaying in the breeze she always caused. The disturbance of a god appearing made the land and air rejoice. Hence the wind. But as it settled, the plants and air around them grew still.

“I need you.” She placed a hand upon her arm, rubbing. “I did something, and I want your support.”

“What did you do?”

“A plague, that I’d forgotten about, came back in a town, and it’s almost wiped all of them out.”

Jaskier nodded, lips pulled thin. “And watching it alone hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t be gone for long.”

Destiny glanced over her shoulder, to where Geralt had disappeared into the trees. “Don’t mind him, he will be busy for hours yet, tracking the beast.” She cast a smile towards him. “Made the griffin hard to find.”

“Of course you did.” He reached out for Destiny, and she put her hand in his. “Take me there.”

In a blink of an eye they moved from a woodland, to standing on the roof of the tallest building in a town. Jaskier wasn’t familiar with this place, had never come here to tie hearts. The town radiated with heartbreak. Bodies covered in sheets lay on abandoned wagons, and many houses seemed to house people no more.

“Ow,” he murmured, rubbing his chest. It was like being stabbed repeatedly with tiny knives. “How many are dead?”

“Three quarters of the town died, but the disease seems to have passed on now.” Destiny bowed her head. “I… didn’t want this to happen. I’d forgotten about the disease I’d asked to be created. Deadly, can spread fast when the infected cough up blood.”

“The unforeseen consequences of actions…” Jaskier murmured, sighing out. It happened so often in their line of work.

“Indeed…”

“I’m sorry, Destiny.”

“Yes, well…” She grasped his upper arm, stepping closer to him, as if to bring herself comfort. “I knew you would understand.”

“I do.” He closed his eyes and let his lines show, stretching his hand outwards, spreading his fingers. “But do not forget that I am a god of love, and that does not mean romantic love alone. That means every kind of love. I can soothe their pain somewhat, and let them remember good, joyful memories of their loved ones.”

“You can… soothe grief?”

He let a blanket of his light spread from his hands. Invisible to the eyes of the living ones, as it seeped through their windows, under their doors. It would curl around their hearts and ease their tears, stem the flow of grief, and allow them to breathe for the first time since their outbreak. There was so much _pain_. But he would do this, for them, for Destiny. The love they held for those they lost outweighed the pain of them being gone. Not all could be spared in this way, but most held enough of the best of times to get through their grief just that little bit easier.

“I can.” He opened his eyes and retracted his hand. “Love is an overwhelming force, more so than grief. Why do you think we need so many gods of it?” He smiled at Destiny. “Mine is, of course, swayed more towards romantic love, but I do hold an infinite amount in my heart.”

Destiny launched herself at him, hugging tight. “Thank you, Jaskier. I can rest now, knowing that this town won’t be in vast pain because of _me_ , because of an _accident_.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around her, smiling bright. “Sweetest sibling, I would do anything for you. I’m glad I could help.”

She pulled back, nodding. “You helped more than you know.”

“If you need me again, just do what you did today. I do not mind being myself during these years.”

“If the situation calls for it, I’ll keep that in mind, dearest brother.”

He grasped her hand, squeezing. “Now, I have to return, Geralt needs me.”

“Geralt is soon going to begin causing you hurt… Just a warning, that you won’t remember.”

“I… It’s inevitable, with him. Getting hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier shook his head, squeezing Destiny’s hand tight. “I’m destined to be heartbroken, I’m aware of that.” He smiled, sadly. “I know, despite it all, he will still be my heart. A tie that cannot be broken, as it was never made. It just is, and always will be.”

Destiny tipped her head to the sky. “I don’t know what will happen, with you and him, it’s so clouded by so many different paths, that anything you may choose to do, could change it all, at any moment.”

“Is that because I’m a god, and he’s a living one?”

“I would think so…”

“Then, we’ll see what time brings, what _you_ bring.” He blinked and they were back at his camp. He sat down, and glanced to Roach, who seemed to calm at his presence, but eyed Destiny with suspicion. “I have to be here, and I need to forget…”

Destiny huffed, shaking her head. “I hate this, every time I do it.”

“Does it get easier? To lose my company?”

“Never, dear brother.” She brushed her fingers against his temple.

Roach neighed, loud and clear, as if triumphant over something. Jaskier cast a look her way and laughed gently. She was a wonderful horse, always hyperaware of her surroundings, and who could be trusted too.

Jaskier picked up his notebook and got to work on some new lyrics. He’d gotten a strange waft of inspiration, about a town, and a plague that had swept through it, leaving many dead. And while the living grieved, their souls were soothed with the love they harboured for those lost.

A completely fictional story, but something about it felt real, like it was true.

\--

Jaskier had been sitting on a tree stump for a long while, watching Geralt. He hadn’t told him what he was doing, but it certainly wasn’t fishing. Ever since last week, when Geralt had spoken to a mage in private, he’d pushed towards Rinde. For this river. Whatever was beneath its waters, it didn’t spark any confidence in Jaskier.

After the minutes ticked on, and Geralt still cast his net out, Jaskier sighed. “What _are_ you doing?”

Geralt hung his shoulders, huffing a breath. Oo, that was progress from last time he’d asked. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ matter, because you’re clearly stressed, and you’ve had a one track mind about this for a week now.” Jaskier folded his arms. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“How did you know?”

“I…” Hm, he didn’t know how to put this delicately, “don’t easily go to sleep when you’re awake?”

Geralt furrowed his brow, frowning. “Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose. Honestly, sometimes, it was like pulling teeth. “Why are you fishing?”

“I’m not fishing.”

Right okay, at least he’d _finally_ gotten a step closer to the truth. It wasn’t what he wanted, of course, because Geralt not fishing right now made this ten times more dangerous and difficult, but okay… This was fine. This was more progress than he’d been expecting.

“What’s going on, Geralt? Talk to me.” _Please_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t. He wasn’t quite at begging yet.

Geralt sighed and looked to Jaskier, and, _gods_ , the emotion in his eyes. Maybe he _was_ going to talk to him, say how he felt. “I’m looking for a djinn.”

“No. Gods, no.” Jaskier laughed a little, at the absurdity that this situation suddenly held. “A djinn isn’t going to help you. Bad tempers and banned magics? Come on, Geralt, it will take your intentions and twist them without a perfectly crafted wish. And considering you can’t sleep… I’m guessing you don’t have that prepared.”

“Jaskier, _I can’t fucking sleep_ , I need this!”

“I know, I’m aware you can’t, and I’ve been _trying_ to help.”

And he had been. Getting them to stay in more taverns. Buying hot food. More baths with more salts and oils and soaps. He’d pampered Geralt over the last month… two months? Time had passed strangely, time always passed strangely _._ So, he couldn’t be sure how long it had truly been, but it was long enough for Jaskier to be overly concerned, to the point where he was going to break out his best tactics.

 _This_ was not a good tactic.

Geralt began walking along the river some more and Jaskier chased after him.

“You know as well as I do that this is merely rubbing salve on a tumour. Not exactly addressing the root cause of the problem.” They came to a stop at another section of the river. “I mean, maybe, just– just maybe, this whole sleeplessness-ness has got something to do with what the druid Mousesack said to you in Cintra? You know, the Law of Surprise? Destiny? Being unable to escape the child that belongs to you, et cetera, et cetera?

“No!” Geralt shouted much too loud and too quickly. “It’s not that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But what if you’re not?” That got him a glare, but, oh well… He was trying his best to help. “Geralt, is a djinn really going to help you. _Really_?” He paced down the bank, to stand beside him. “The path you are choosing right now, will only lead to hurt in the long run. Address the problem, or face destiny’s wrath.”

“Destiny doesn’t exist.”

“As much as you would like to believe that, we both witnessed a night that proved you are very wrong.” Much more than that, _he knew he was wrong_. A deep feeling he could not shake, because it was true.

Geralt’s shoulders sank once again. “It didn’t prove anything.”

“It proved more than you want to admit.” Jaskier turned to him, placing a careful hand at his shoulder. “Geralt… you’re not well, you need a mage, not a _djinn_.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve slept.”

Jaskier pulled Geralt into a hug, and he went easily, pressing his head against Jaskier’s chest. Carefully, Jaskier wrapped his arms safely around him, and held on. He hoped it would bring some comfort, just a little. Their friendship had more downs than ups sometimes, due to Geralt’s reluctance, but at least there was this. At least he let him do this.

“I know, I know…” he whispered, rubbing circles into Geralt’s back. “Let’s just get into Rinde and get a room for the night.”

“We’re running low on money,” Geralt half-heartedly murmured.

“Now, no, none of that. You might sleep with a bed, even though it hasn’t worked so far, _it could_. And if Rinde has a mage, if we’re _lucky_ , then we may find you a remedy.”

Geralt pulled out of the hug, his eyebrows pinched. “You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care what I should and should not do, you _need_ this.” He gave his best smile. “I’ll even sing all night to replenish some of our funds, while you have a good drink and a hot meal.”

Geralt nodded. “Fine…” He turned to the net and pulled it back in.

Except… there was something inside. A pot. Geralt pulled it out, and… _Fuck_.

“It’s a wizard’s seal. The djinn,” Geralt said, reaching to open it.

Jaskier grabbed the handle of the pot, pulling it to him. “What did we just agree?”

“Jaskier.” And he used _that_ tone, the tone when he was warning someone. Well, warning him in particular but… They had _just_ –

“Please, think about this.”

“Let go.”

“No! No, let go, you horse’s arse!” All he wanted was to get Geralt to overcome his problems the normal way, this was not the normal way.

And then the stopper came flying out, firm in Geralt’s hand, and… Nothing. Nothing happened, _thank the gods_. Sometimes, there were blessings in this world. Finally, a day where destiny didn’t bite them in their arses.

“Bit of an anti-climax, but oh well,” Jaskier said, with a triumphant smile.

A breeze blew through the trees, and clouds seemed to darken the area, as Geralt bowed his head, puffing out a sigh. “All I want is some damn peace.”

“Well, we can get you peace… I promise, Geralt. Just one more night of normal, and then, if you need it, we’ll find any magical remedy you need.”

The air seemed to darken more so, the wind picking up, and suddenly, Jaskier wheezed. Back hitting against the tree behind him as he was choked by… an invisible force. _The djinn_. Oh gods, how did they manage to rile a magical creature such as that so quickly? Geralt widened his eyes as Jaskier coughed and struggled to breathe.

He turned quickly, casting his hand out in the Aard sign. A flash of blue rushed out, sending the djinn far, it appeared, as light was brought back to the area and the wind stopped.

Jaskier fell sideways, bending down, trying to catch his breath as he continued to wheeze and choke. He struggled, like something was holding his breath for him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said softly, concerned, reaching out for his back as Jaskier fell more forward, arm cast out, which Geralt held onto with his hand, supporting his back with the other.

He vomited blood, its rich colour splattering onto the ground, standing out. He coughed and struggled more so, _scared now_ , terrified even. Blood, choking, wheezing, inability to breathe… he did not have long if this continued. He looked up at Geralt, conveying his worry, but tried to show that he _trusted_ Geralt with his life.

And right now, Geralt was the only person who could save him.

“Come on,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier away with him. “Hold onto that pot.”

Jaskier nodded, and tried to say something, but got cut off by his own cough. Still, he eked out, “Won’t– let you down.”

Geralt gave him a brief look of worry before hoisting him up onto Roach, climbing on behind him. Jaskier was steadied as Geralt curled an arm around his waist and kicked Roach into a gallop. Geralt rode fast and hard, and Jaskier was surprised at how desperate Geralt seemed.

Probably an overestimation of his feelings. Maybe he only wanted to save him because he could be mildly useful… sometimes. Couldn’t he? Actually, he didn’t really know. Maybe it was the years of friendship, or… Jaskier hoped it was their bond through friendship that was causing Geralt to be so, well, _like this_.

“Is there a doctor here?!” Geralt shouted as they approached a camp.

“Yes, yes. Chireadan, the elf healer,” a man said, pointing to a tent. “Over there.”

Geralt hopped off Roach, and helped Jaskier down, dragging him quickly along to the tent, where Chireadan was waiting, having probably heard the commotion outside.

“What happened?” he asked, guiding them in.

“A djinn attacked him,” Geralt said.

They both helped Jaskier to sit down, his wheezing getting worse by the second. He could feel it, tightening, threatening to kill him completely. But he wasn’t quite ready to admit that yet. That this had the strong possibility to kill him sooner rather than later.

“A djinn in a bottle? It’s like a fairy tale.” Chireadan dragged a stool over to sit, assessing Jaskier’s neck.

“Without the happy ending. Can you help him?”

Jaskier was frantically moving his hands, trying to… he wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. But he was sure he was hindering Chireadan’s inspection of his neck.

“Oh, dear…”

“What?”

“I assure you I have received the best medical education right here in Rinde, but…” He looked up at Geralt, “these injuries are of a magical nature.” He caught Jaskier’s eyesight (which he had to admit was a bit frantic right now). “I can help with the pain, but it’s a bit like…”

“Putting salve on a tumour?” Geralt asked, which was a _horrible_ call back in this moment.

“No…!” Jaskier wheezed, his voice basically gone.

Chireadan got up, moving towards a table full of vials. Jaskier fell backwards, the pain was too overwhelming to keep himself upright. Geralt caught him, luckily. Thank the gods he was there.

“His throat was attacked. If the spell’s action isn’t halted as soon as possible, that damage might be irreversible.”

Jaskier widened his eyes. No… He went to speak, to murmur ‘what’ at the very least, but he vomited up more blood instead. With only Geralt’s strong grip to steady him.

“And the longer he goes untreated, the more likely it is to spread. He could die,” Chireadan continued to explain.

Jaskier drew in a breath, through the blood dripping from his lips. “Fuck…!” He raised his arm backwards, needing, _wanting_ support. “Geralt...” _He didn’t want to die._

“We _won’t_ let that happen,” Geralt said, and while it did sound a bit awkward, it was sincere too. He patted Jaskier’s back, which was a strange comfort to him.

Chireadan returned with the medicine, helping Jaskier to drink it. A very difficult task, all of a sudden, but he managed it.

“The medicine should buy him a few hours, but he needs a magical remedy. You’ll have to take him to another town.”

“There isn’t a mage here?”

“Uh… The mayor says they are dangerous.” Well that sounded downright suspicious, even if Jaskier was half out of his mind with pain, and halfway dead it seemed.

“What aren’t you saying? Tell me,” Geralt demanded, in that calm way he often did.

“Well… there… there is one mage. I… was tasked with bringing this mage to justice. But I was unable to penetrate certain defences. The mayor himself has made the catch and has imprisoned the mage in his house.”

“That wasn’t so fucking hard, was it?” Geralt grabbed Jaskier and hauled him out too suddenly, which brought on another wheeze and bout of pain. But… well, Jaskier had already worked out Geralt was desperate, so…

“Be careful. The mage is powerful and malicious. And quite cunning.”

Geralt pushed Chireadan out of the way, saying, “I’ll go find him.”

They rode hard towards Rinde, to the mayor’s house. Night had fallen by the time they’d gotten there, and the guard that tried to stop them hadn’t helped matters. But at least Geralt had gotten rid of him quickly with that hit to the head.

Being carried was less entertaining, but desperate times and all that… As Geralt set him down on the edge of a table, they were greeted with what was possibly the weirdest thing that had happened all day. A naked man in a kitchen.

“Welcome… to my home,” the man said.

“You’re the mayor of Rinde?” Geralt wondered, looking back to Jaskier. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”

Jaskier tried to reply, but his opinion came out in tiny sounds that did not make sense.

“Sorry, he’s in a bad way. Is there a mage that lives here?”

The mayor began to shake his head, then. “Ah! The apple juice! She wants some. And she always gets… what she wants.”

Geralt seemed just as confused as Jaskier was. “I don’t understand. Does he want me to get him the apple juice?”

Jaskier shook his head, trying to convey the words ‘I don’t know’, doing pretty well, or so he thought at least.

Geralt reached over for the apple juice, and in that short time, the mayor had fallen asleep, surprisingly. Whatever was wrong with him, it had taken hold with a strong grip. Geralt lifted Jaskier off the table by the back of his doublet, pulling him along effortlessly. Though it did almost hurt. Not as bad as his throat did, of course.

They went through a door thick with fog covering the ground. Things were only getting weirder.

“The fuck?” Geralt questioned before pulling Jaskier off to the left, until they walked into one room which…

Well… Jaskier widened his eyes at the chaos. An orgy, a very large orgy, not that Jaskier had seen many in his time. Geralt dragged Jaskier through the hallway, of frantically very naked and very busy people. Some, however, did have some form of clothing on them, but it was loose and looked very liable to fall off.

Geralt stopped, sharing a look with Jaskier. It was brief however, as he pulled him to his left side, setting him down quite roughly. “Stay,” he said, frustrated and stern.

And to be honest, this was a situation to be frustrated at, considering Geralt was trying to get him help… Unfortunately, Jaskier landed on a soft cushiony… sofa? He wasn’t sure, too out of it with everything else going on. A woman, next to him, curled her hand around his head, which Jaskier was not best pleased by. In fact, he was rather uncomfortable, and would rather be at Geralt’s side.

Geralt went off to talk with the mage as Jaskier was being – quite frankly – molested by this woman pushing her breasts upon his head. It wasn’t his ideal situation to be in, certainly not like this, no.

At some point in the conversation, Geralt turned to look at him, and Jaskier waved a hello as the woman pushed his head downwards. Great… Just what he wanted.

The conversation seemed to end quickly enough, because suddenly, everyone in the room pulled away from each other in an embarrassed mess. A spell. Of course. Mages, sometimes, they hindered more than they helped. And they did get in the way of plans more often than they should have, really.

Breaking the rules was this mage’s thing though, Jaskier knew that, as well as he knew his own memories. She had defied before, and she would defy again, on this very night.

Geralt returned to Jaskier’s side and hauled him up by the back of his doublet once again. The mage guided them to a room upstairs, and Geralt carefully set Jaskier down on the bed, helping him out of his doublet as Yennefer instructed. They shared a worried look, and Jaskier grasped Geralt’s wrists, wheezing, but trying to say, ‘Don’t leave me’.

“I need privacy,” the mage said.

Unfortunately, Geralt hadn’t got his message, as he left with a hum, concern in his eyes.

“Right.” The mage sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll begin.” She settled her hands on Jaskier’s neck, and he eyed her with suspicion as she closed her eyes, looking as if she was searching him. Her brow knitted slowly. “You’re dying but… you’re not.” She closed her eyes tighter, withdrawing with a gasp. Her eyes wide, shock painted upon her features. “You’re–”

Jaskier tried to speak, but garbled nonsense came out instead. What had she found?

“Not human. And yet, nothing like I’ve ever come across.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow. What– the fuck? He tried to speak, but all went dark, as the curtains brushed with a light breeze.

\--

Destiny sighed. A sorcerer figuring it out was the last thing she needed right now. She glided across the room, hovering over Jaskier.

“Rest, dear brother,” she whispered. Nothing but her misty figure above him, invisible to all eyes.

Now, Jaskier rested peacefully, the swelling calming on his neck.

She rounded on the sorcerer. Yennefer. The paths were finally beginning to converge. And the start of Jaskier’s heartbreak would begin, with his foolish heart making a wish. Their hearts were not tied, and a djinn certainly could not do it. That was Jaskier’s power alone. Besides, they weren’t matched, and that was the one condition for fated hearts.

Yennefer was still tied to Istredd, after all. However, Destiny had no doubt that when Jaskier regained himself, he would reconsider if their hearts should be bonded. There had been a great change in the both of them over the years.

“Yennefer,” Destiny murmured telepathically, the curtains lapping against the windows, “forget all you felt, for Jaskier is a human, nothing more.” She parted her lips, pondering for a second. This was delicate… “You put him in a restful healing sleep, similar to the spell you’ve used on many others. Now, work on the witcher, he must break my brother’s heart.”

Yennefer’s eyes rolled back into her head for a second, until she snapped back into reality, staring at Jaskier. She nodded to herself, smiling at her work. There was a cunning hint to it.

Destiny left soon after. She had other events to watch over. Culminations of work that had taken centuries.

\--

Jaskier awoke with a gasp, instantly feeling for his neck. He pushed himself up a tad, rubbing his eye with the back off his hand. “Oh, where am I?” He sat up further, and realised he wasn’t alone.

A woman sat in front of him, black hair resting upon her shoulders.

 _Oh_. He knew…

“Yennefer, don’t you know that a womb is not the only way to gain a child?” He chuckled, and it boomed from his chest like chuckles never did. “Do you really not know? You’re a mage, figure it out.”

Yennefer turned to him, a dark but confused look upon her face.

Jaskier threw his head back in a laugh. “Everything is nothing.” And he launched himself off the bed, grabbing his boots and frantically putting them on.

Yennefer – he didn’t remember learning her name – got up from the bed, and walked over to her desk, pulling a knife from it. “How do you know that?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Jaskier smirked. “You do not know the true will, and you have already lost your chance at being who you were supposed to be.”

“Your friend seemed to think it was you with the wishes, and yet, you have knowledge.” She sent him flying back against the wall.

Still, he kept smirking. “If I do have the wishes, I will make three for you now, but the djinn will not give you what you want.”

She approached slowly, jaw slightly clenched. “You’re only a human, you do not know magic, what it can do.”

“But I know.” He shook himself, and suddenly, fear rose inside him as all cockiness withdrew in a cold goodbye, as a wind swept through the room.

“Make your wishes!” Yennefer demanded, crowding Jaskier against the wall, pressing the blade ever so close to his neck.

“I… I wish to have better boots, I want to be able to feel warmer in the colder months, and I very much want to leave this place!” he ended with a shout.

Yennefer cast him aside as she knelt in front of the candles and symbol. Chanting in Elder. He watched as the misty djinn snuck its way in, and that was enough for him. He scrambled to his feet and rushed out of the house like it was on fire. Whatever had just happened, he didn’t want to be involved any longer.

Once he got outside, he was extremely glad to see Geralt approaching. “Oh, Geralt! Thank the gods. I might live to see another day. We need to _go_.”

“Jaskier, you’re okay,” he said with an actual fondness.

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” He hadn’t been there when he’d woken up, so he could only assume Geralt had dropped him off and left because… surely he had no reason to stay once he was certain Jaskier would survive. Right?

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked people in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous.” It also included Geralt, a beautiful meadow, and the softness of spring sun. But he hardly wanted to mention that, or his feelings. “The second, _significantly_ more terrifying.”

“Tell me about the second one.”

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen.” They both came to a slow stop. “You know, the usual.”

Geralt slowly turned to face the manor. “She wants to be the vessel.”

“What, you know this woman?” And then stopped himself abruptly because, “Of course you know this woman.”

“She wants to become more powerful. But she’ll die,” Geralt said it slowly, as if he was only working it out just now.

“Well, let’s pray for her on our way _out_ _of_ _town_ ,” he said, getting increasingly frustrated, because he could feel what was coming next. As much as he knew anything, he knew what would happen. And when Geralt started his march towards the house, Jaskier promptly chased after him. “Are you perhaps short of a marble?!”

Chireadan caught Geralt’s arm. “You have to go in there, don’t you? I recognise the look. I know how you feel.”

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Geralt said, and continued his journey forth.

Jaskier followed still. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Do not tell me that this is finally the moment you’ve decided to actually care about someone other than yourself?” He reached his hands outwards, and managed to stop Geralt in his tracks. “Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise!”

“She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die.”

Jaskier did nothing to stop Geralt going inside, because what was he supposed to do about that. He didn’t remember much about what had happened. It was a vague recollection. A haze. He didn’t remember Yennefer saving his life, and he didn’t know why Geralt suddenly cared so much about her.

He wished he didn’t, so they could get out of town and leave this mess behind them. To get Geralt some peace– Oh. Jaskier understood now, he did not have the wishes, Geralt did. And his very best friend had nearly caused his death. Sometimes, Jaskier wondered why he still bothered to follow Geralt through thick and thin, for he was greatly underappreciated.

But the force that was at play here was much stronger than his will to leave.

The sky darkened above as the mayor clambered out of his house, putting his clothes on. Jaskier seemed to remember him being naked, and the evidence of that was clear. He stepped towards him.

“Sir, what’s going on in that house?”

“ _My_ house. And… I have no idea!”

Cracks made their way through the stone, making an awfully terrible noise, and smashing some of the windows. Jaskier breathed deeply, watching the situation unfold. The only words that circled in his mind were, ‘ _Let Geralt be okay, else I scream the world to ashes_ ’.

Only moments after, the entire roof collapsed in, and a mist shot up into the clouds, the sky becoming light once more but… But _they had been up there_. And surely, the roof would have caved in right on top of them. Not even the strongest of people could survive that.

“Were… were they up there?” Chireadan asked quietly.

“Yes.” Jaskier began walking alongside the house, staring up at the damage… There was no way he could–

“Are you sure they were up there?”

“This can’t be happening.” He shook his head. “This can’t be happening.” What… was he… What.

“She could not have survived it.”

“Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch? Why?” He couldn’t make sense of it, it didn’t make any sense. He was sure, _sure_ , he’d only met her yesterday. Why, had he fallen in love instantly? _Love didn’t work like that_! It was more than that! It was effort and hard bloody work. And sure, there was some destiny involved for the greatest of matches, but the love came after the seeing.

No, this was something else. Yennefer was a mage, had he been under her spell? Maybe. Or maybe Geralt was that much of a fool, to believe love was as simple as lust.

“Because she was magnificent,” Chireadan said, cutting Jaskier from his thoughts. It was a way of explanation, as if it explained anything.

Jaskier’s legs felt unstable as the… _fuck_. The grief? As the grief coursed through him, the… the fucking… Oh gods. His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground, gasping. Geralt was meant for more than this, he had more coming his way… How could he be– No. No… He closed his eyes tight and got to his knees, resting back on his heels.

“What am I supposed to do now, hm? It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” _It really wasn’t_. “I’m gonna write you… the best song… so that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw. And I will sing it… for the rest of my days.” He wasn’t ready to let go yet, no, because he loved him, as much as it was a daily painful experience to do so… But he would honour him, as much as he could, and all would know and hear that song. “He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.”

Or at least, that’s what he’d interpreted over the years…

Chireadan suddenly rushed towards him, collapsing down, grasping his shoulder. “They’re alive.”

Jaskier thought through it, but… “Bollocks.” He pushed himself off the ground and quickly paced over to the window Chireadan had just been standing at. “Geralt?” he called out, hopeful. Then, he came to a stop at the window and _oh_. He sighed in relief, almost smiling. “Oh, they’re alive.” Chireadan appeared back at his side. Jaskier furrowed his brow as he watched. “They’re _really_ alive.”

Then it hit him too suddenly, what he was really seeing. Geralt and Yennefer were… Something burst in his chest, a kind of rage that had no explanation. Not jealousy, no it was worse than that. He paced away, needing space, needing to be miles away from Geralt. Just to stop him feeling sick at the image. He closed his eyes tight and yelled out, just, _yelled_.

Behind his eyelids, a bright light shone through, and he fell to the ground, his yelling failing to cease as his chest felt as if it was being crushed under all the pressure. Of what, he did not know. But it hurt, more than the attack on his throat did.

And then he was out, like a candle in the wind.

\--

Jaskier opened his eyes, not quite remembering what had happened. He sat up, glancing all around. Was he… back in Chireadan’s tent? Last he remembered was– Oh, fuck. That turned his stomach far too quickly. And why? It didn’t make sense. Intense jealousy? Maybe. He supposed Geralt saving a crazy witch meant more than him finding comfort in a brothel.

He gritted his teeth together at the mere thought.

“Gods, no,” Chireadan said, having entered the tent as Jaskier’s thoughts ran wild.

“What?” Jaskier asked, standing from the bed, stretching. He really needed to stop waking up in places he didn’t remember falling asleep in.

“Don’t think about it, please.” Chireadan stepped in front of him, eyes searching. “At the mayor’s house, you screamed and passed out. Just after you saw them.”

“Oh…”

“There was a light too, probably a side effect of the djinn magic.” Chireadan glanced down, his own expression sad. While Jaskier was burning with rage, Chireadan’s heartbreak was hurting him deeply.

Jaskier placed a hand at Chireadan’s shoulder, humming. “Love is hard. The hardest thing of all,” he sang. “Find the brawl, your heart is scarred.” He continued to hum, as Chireadan raised his head with a questioning eyebrow.

“What is your name?”

“Jaskier, but in this kingdom, people know me as Julian.”

He... didn’t know why he’d said that, but it felt right.

Chireadan gasped and stepped away. “Oh…”

Jaskier tilted his head. “What is it?”

“I know who you are. But I don’t think you do.”

“Wha–”

“Redania is the heartland of Julian, the god of music, love, and fated hearts.” Chireadan smiled slightly, in an almost grimace. “You’re a bard, are you not?”

“I…”

“You just sung my fate, my fated heart…”

“I did no such thing.” Jaskier shook his head, again and again, scoffing, brow knitted. What? How could– He just… sang, like he did sometimes.

The tent shook with a sudden wind, and a large sigh burst from the ceiling. “For fucks sake, Jaskier, stop being so _obvious_.”

The wind brushed passed as quickly as it came, and the air was fresh again, a lot less worrying than before.

Jaskier breathed deeply, and smiled at Chireadan. “What were you saying?”

“Just that, you passed out and I brought you back here to rest.”

“Well, thank you, Chireadan. That was kind.”

Chireadan nodded, more to himself than to Jaskier. “It’s been a long day.”

“It… really has.”

“Geralt is waiting for you outside.”

Jaskier glanced to the tent’s entrance. “Well… at least he hasn’t left me.” He looked towards Chireadan once again. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Julian,” Chireadan said with a hint of a smile.

Jaskier barely noticed the name until he was outside. Huh… Why had he said it? Maybe he knew he was a viscount, from the town close to Rinde. Maybe…

When he saw Geralt, it was like a wave of relief embraced him. “Where to next?”

Geralt glanced to Roach, then to Jaskier. “How about Oxenfurt?”

“Perfect.” Jaskier grinned with glee, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get going!”

As he circled Roach, untying his lute from her. He swore he noticed the hint of a smile on Geralt’s lips. Even though Yennefer may have claimed him in one way, Jaskier had Geralt in an entirely other way.

And for now, it was _enough_.


	4. The Truth

Gorgeous… Lovely… The alliteration of Gorgeous was nice, but did it fit Geralt? He wasn’t so sure. He sorted through the words in his head, until he noticed the alderman and butcher trying to steal Geralt’s bags, and by extension his (they mixed their things around all the time). They even looked ready to take Roach, which was _not_ right.

“Bollocks!” He let his notebook slide off his lap as he stood. “Oi! No. No, no, no! No! Aah! You stop– stop that, or I– I’ll, uh…” Hm, he really needed to get better at telling people to stop. Even just to get better at defending himself.

He was rather terrible at it.

“Or you’ll what? Sing us to death?” the butcher asked, mocking.

Jaskier tilted his head, and the wind whipped. A force awoke within him, growling at the world. “I could, if I desired.”

The alderman, who was holding Geralt’s bags, let them slip off his shoulder, in a vague horror. Jaskier flashed a smile.

“Or, if you wanted, I could get a friend of mine to ensure your death will be horrific. And I don’t mean my dear witcher, oh no.”

The butcher, who’d suggested stealing the bags in the first place, paled.

Jaskier huffed a laugh, glancing down, flicking his eyes up to look them in the soul. “Now run along, or face power unlike anything you have seen.”

Both men ran, but not before the alderman tossed Jaskier a bag of coins. The payment. Too scared not to, maybe.

“Impressive, bard,” a man said, coming up behind Jaskier. He was flagged by two warriors, and they looked mighty indeed. “Did you know it would work?”

Jaskier laughed. “Not at all.” He furrowed his brow. “Sorry, who are you?”

Before the man could answer, a head came flying from the cave, and Geralt followed behind it. Jaskier twisted his mouth at the dead creature, it was an ugly one this time.

“What happened to the alderman and the butcher?” Geralt asked, stopping still on the higher path.

“They ran off.” Jaskier smiled and threw the pouch towards Geralt, which he caught. “Not before paying, of course.”

“Good.” He nodded to the man, along with the two women. “Who are you?”

The man stepped forward. “I am Borch Three Jackdaws. These are my companions, Téa and Véa. I’ve been looking for you, Geralt of Rivia.”

\--

Jaskier sipped at his Est Est, keeping one ear on the conversation with Borch, and another on the patrons. This tavern was filled to the brim with people, radiating with an energy that was far more interesting than the words of a man. Téa and Véa were silent, sitting looking strong, like they were the swords at Borch’s side, and he had no doubt they were. And maybe something else too, though, that was only a vague feeling.

He tuned back in to hear Borch saying, “He’s commissioned a hunt to kill it. Four teams have signed on. The winner gets the dragon treasure hoard plus the title of lord over one of his new vassal states. That is… if he survives.”

Jaskier gritted his teeth, an ancient wave of grief-stricken heartbreak rolling over him. “Dragons have been through too much, they do not deserve to be killed.”

Borch eyed him. “What makes you say that?”

Jaskier drummed his fingers off the table. “To kill a dragon because a king demands it, is just the same as killing a human, an elf, or any other being with a soul. It’s murder. It’s not just.”

Geralt nodded along. “I agree. Why are you telling me this, Borch?”

Borch gave a wry smile. “I want you to join my team.”

“You’ve wasted your breath, Borch. I don’t kill dragons. Take my advice. No treasure is worth dying for.”

Jaskier smiled, if they could spare _one_ dragon by not joining this hunt, it would be worth everything in the world. There had been too much bloodshed. Too many species had died, been hunted to near extinction because of human tenacity to kill. He knew all were better than that, better than the shitty hand they had been dealt by destiny, and yet… No matter how the paths were forged, humans only wanted one thing.

Anything different dead.

But Jaskier could feel something deep in his bones, some old weave… Borch wasn’t a typical case… Hm. He shook the feeling off before it could get its claws into him.

Borch’s expression twisted into a sadness. “Depends on the treasure. What I need is… a new adventure. One final first before I’m too old to do anything but die.”

“And you think killing a dragon will bring you that?” Geralt deadpanned.

“All I know is there’s one path up the mountain, and it’s overrun with monsters. With you on my team, dear Witcher, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Borch’s sadness had twisted into a joy, a hope maybe, which only swayed Jaskier towards the possibility that there was more to this than anyone could predict.

The conversation was interrupted by a group of dwarfs getting rather rowdy towards the barman.

“Those dwarfs will be part of the hunt,” Borch said, and Jaskier narrowed his eyes at them.

“Best not to underestimate dwarfs,” he said, smiling. “They’re the fiercest of the living.”

He was quickly proved right as one sprinted up to the bar, climbing atop it, grabbing the barman’s apron. “He said he wants four fuckin’ pints!” He released the man, stern. “Now.”

“Then there are the Reavers,” Téa said. “Have you heard of them, Witcher?”

“Yes.” He looked to Borch. “And the answer is no.”

Borch leaned across the table, as if he knew more, and Jaskier had no doubt he did. “You feel it just the same as me… that hole inside you. That itch that can’t be scratched that burns your brain, keeps you awake at night. Come with me. I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

“What am I missing?”

Jaskier had more of an idea than Borch of what Geralt of godsdammed Rivia was missing. He, naturally, cut in, “Sorry to interrupt this lovely moment… That’s only three. Where’s the– What’s the fourth team?”

Borch turned and pointed towards the entrance. Where… _Oh fuck_. Yennefer. “Them.”

Jaskier threw his head back in a deranged chuckle that burst from him, tearing at the seams. It boomed, unlike anything else. “Ooh, hoo, hoo! It’s all coming together now, the penultimate act.” He continued to laugh, shaking his head. This could not be, not now, not yet. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Thank you so much. It’s been very nice. Thank you for the wine and the pies, but as the man said, we really can’t get involved.” He touched Geralt’s shoulder, pressing his hand against it before quickly retracting. “Geralt, shall we?”

“I’m in,” Geralt said, almost in a daze.

“Mother of…” Jaskier muttered, so much for making a quick escape. Were they really going to be involved in a dragon hunt? They couldn’t… Not a dragon, no.

Borch looked utterly triumphant. “The hunt begins at sunrise.”

Jaskier knew that only the most dramatic and awful events would unfold from here. A dragon hunt, Yennefer, Borch being mysterious… It spelt a disaster all on its own.

\--

“So, shall we tell the poor bastard that he’s vying for a vassal state that won’t exist in a decade?” Yarpen said.

Jaskier put his notebook down, the song could wait, this was far more important. Because Yarpen was right, the world was changing, and a lot of states, well, they simply would not survive what was coming next.

“States rise and fall like the tide. Nothing new,” Geralt said, as if it was obvious.

“ _This_ is _fucking_ new!” Yarpen stressed. “The rightful son of Nilfgaard has returned, burning through the south.”

“With Fringilla as his mage.” Yennefer laughed, as if she had anything to be amused at. “Nilfgaard’s a joke.”

“I saw it with my own eyes down in Ebbing. Those zealot freaks are inching closer by the day.” He spoke with such a surety, such a… lack of hope in his voice. And he was right to think that way. “Won’t be long till they try and take Sodden. Next it’ll be Temeria. Redania.” A pause. “Cintra.”

“No,” Jaskier cut in, staring at the fire, glaiky. “Queen Calanthe would die before letting them take what’s hers.” _And she would_.

“Perhaps if Nilfgaard’s religious zeal had been tempered earlier by a stronger hand...” Borch said, toying with a pinecone in his hands. His eyes flicked up to Yennefer as he finished speaking.

“There was a chance of a different path,” Jaskier murmured, staring at Yennefer, his gaze darting over to Borch, “but that was squandered long ago, when a destiny was ignored, and its wrath was set upon the world. Of course, not helped by several other factors.”

Borch narrowed his eyes at him, lips parting as if he were lost on what Jaskier had said. But he had to understand, he had spoken like he knew.

Yennefer did not seem particularly happy with the words that had transpired. She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get my beauty sleep.”

Yarpen stood as well. “I don’t think it’ll make me prettier, but I need sleep too.” He and the other dwarfs walked off.

Leaving only their team to sit around the campfire. Borch hadn’t stopped staring at Jaskier, and it was beginning to be a little uncomfortable. He didn’t know why he’d said what he did, but he knew it was why Borch was looking at him with the upmost suspicion. Meanwhile, Téa, Véa, and even Geralt seemed to pay it no mind.

“What are you?” Borch asked, at last.

Jaskier furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what creature are you?”

“Human…”

Geralt glanced to Jaskier, then to Borch, then back to Jaskier with a slight furrow at his brow. “What are you implying?”

Borch tossed his pinecone down. “How did you know, about Yennefer?”

Jaskier shrugged, helplessly. “Yennefer and I tend to toss barbs back and forth, I thought I would try a different technique this time.”

Borch hummed, in a way that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. “I would suspect that is not true at all.”

“You can suspect that, but you wouldn’t be right.”

“If you say so, _bard_.” And the way he’d said that, as if it was a _lie_.

“Stop it, Borch,” Geralt cut in, sternly… protective. “Jaskier is human. I would know.”

 _‘You smell human,_ _you look human. But your voice doesn’t need a lute to have music.’_

Jaskier huffed to himself as Geralt’s words, that felt so old now, snuck into his head. Even he had doubted that he was human before, they both did on that night. But there had never been anything but a normal humanness to Jaskier, that had been proved over the years, hadn’t it?

Borch tilted his head. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“How about a change of subject?” Jaskier asked, glancing around the camp. No one seemed to object. “Right, so... it seems we’re all about to have new evil overlords, and dragons are, in fact, a thing. What do you say, good day all round?”

\--

Jaskier sat beside Geralt on the rock… This hunt, this fucking hunt, he knew nothing good would come from it, and now people were dead. “You did your best. There’s nothing else you could have done.” He stared at Geralt, eyes longing, his soul sad. It was tearing at him, this, all of it. He just… “Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow?”

“Hm.”

He stared out, beyond the cliff edge, to the mountains beyond, wistful. “We could head to the coast. Get away for a while.” His voice was so muted, so clouded with a million feelings all at once. It was silly, asking this, he knew that, but it was worth a try at least. He took a breath, suddenly amused at his words. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? Life is too short. Do what pleases you... while you can.” He trailed off quietly, still as he watched the mountains…

“Composing your next song?” Geralt asked, disinterested, but not entirely, if he was judging his tone right.

“No, I’m just, uh... Just trying to work out what pleases me.” He worked his jaw, and he knew the answer was Geralt. A thousand times Geralt.

Geralt was silent for a long while, and Jaskier was ready to leave, because surely he would choose to say nothing at all, until he whispered, “We could go to the coast, when this is over.”

“Really?” Jaskier muttered, quiet as a mouse.

“Yes. But why would the coast please you?”

A scoff worked its way from his throat before he could stop it. “It’s not the coast that would please me.” He glanced to Geralt, knowing his words were getting too close for comfort. “It would be the company.”

Geralt nodded, as if he understood. “I suppose if you were to find a partner, the coast may be the best place. It’s romantic, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you with anyone yet, maybe you could find–”

“No,” Jaskier said, cutting him off. _No_. For… He was sure of it now, Geralt was obtuse. How could he not notice, how obvious it was? “ _Your_ company.”

The confession was enough to burn right through his soul. He prepared for the rejection, for Geralt to finally work it out, but instead, he just hummed. Hummed as if this were some small thing he could possibly hum about. It was more than that, it was his feelings, laid out in front of him, at last. And yet, still, he ignored it. Or was too oblivious to see.

“You think us going to the coast will please you?” Geralt asked, dry, as if Jaskier was being stupid.

“Yes, I do.”

“Hm.” Geralt stood, still staring at the view. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He grabbed his bag, and Jaskier turned, watching him make his way to Yennefer’s tent.

He sighed, oh well… The coast didn’t seem that realistic of a dream anyway.

There was a song to be had out of this, however, and he’d been writing a second draft all the way up this mountain. The theme changing from, if he had more resolve he would leave, to having an enemy of his tale. Yennefer. Because over the years, he had seen what she’d been doing to Geralt. Destroying him every time in a different way, and Jaskier was dragged down too, nearly breaking every time they came together.

And if he saw them? He didn’t remember much after it.

But Geralt had agreed, somewhat, to go to the coast with him so… There was a hope there, that their friendship would survive Yennefer, even if Jaskier burnt with jealousy.

\--

“You wanted to show me what I was missing... there she goes,” Geralt said, as if he knew anything at all.

Jaskier did try to warn Geralt, in a roundabout way, back at the tavern, when he wanted them to leave. But there was no stopping him, not when it came to Yennefer, except this time it was worse. More so than usual because they didn’t normally, well, _break up_ after.

Borch stood, stepping close to Geralt. “What you’re missing is still out there. Your legacy.” Jaskier began walking down towards them. “Your destiny. I know it, and you know it.” Borch left, and Geralt turned to stand at the edge of the clearing they were in, staring out.

Jaskier, for some fateful reason, decided to try and diffuse the situation. To add some funny comfort to it all, because Geralt was _hurt_. “Phew, what a day! I imagine you’re probably–”

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, turning. He walked towards him, staring upwards. “Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shovelling it?!”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jaskier said, barely eked out as Geralt tore apart everything he thought they’d ever had.

“The Child Surprise, the djinn!” he continued, so angry… “All of it! If life could give me one blessing,” He pointed at Jaskier, in a way that made him feel like he was nothing at all, “it would be to take you off my hands.”

The words should have been a knife driven into his heart for the pain he felt. He choked on his tongue as Geralt turned, walking away from him. And then – he screamed. His knees gave out, and he fell on his side.

The pain blinded him, he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sounds around him were muted. For the first time, it was as if the world had turned his back on him. Like destiny had choked him one too many times, and now his neck had burst. The beauty of nature was silent to him, and that was _new_. It was terrifying.

Despite all that, all the senses that had been taken from him, he was aware of the tears. He was crying out in anguish, clutching his chest, hoping to make the pain stop. _So he could breathe_. He didn’t understand what was happening, it didn’t make sense. It was just heartbreak, just harsh words spoken, not a weapon stabbed right through him.

But it felt that way, felt far worse than that.

Worse than seeing a newborn bird starve. Worse than watching his heart being ripped in two. No, _he_ was being ripped in two.

“Let _me_!” a voice called out, screamed rather. Deep and rich, hardy but not cruel. He knew her, knew that voice.

“No. It isn’t time yet,” another said, and she sounded like a warmth, safety… Home. It sounded as if she was keeping the first voice back, arms wrapped tightly around her. He could see it, in his mind’s eye, while all he really saw was darkness.

“But he’s hurt, Mother. Not in all my years did I ever see _this_. For all I knew, he left.”

“Sometimes the paths we see do not reflect what truly happens.” A scoff. “Besides, he changes your will all the time. This is no different.”

“He shouldn’t be _screaming_.”

“I know. This is wrong. Our predictions were wrong.”

“What did we fail to factor into our calculations?”

“That he is not a human.”

“ _Oh_. I did predict this. The pain of a thousand heartbreaks. Ah… He’s love and fated hearts, to have his heart broken, is to break love itself.” A sigh, of regret. “It will feel like he’s dying.”

“He’s a god… of love. Of course, how could I have been so foolish to not have noticed? His own fated heart has just tore into him. A god cannot die, but right now, yes, it would be like death.”

“Can’t we… He has to… Look at Geralt, Mother. We have to restore Jaskier.”

“We cannot. We can betray and defy many things, but…”

“But?”

“Jaskier!” Geralt yelled. He’d been shouting. But the voices had been too loud to really hear him… He was losing it. He was finally dying from an unknown cause, out on the road. Yet… Geralt was still shouting at him, rocking his body, as if trying to shake him awake.

But he was awake! He just couldn’t hear, or speak, or breathe against his own pain, over his own yells and whimpers and screams.

He was almost sure he was choking on his own spit, still clutching his chest, his painful heart.

“Just… please… What’s happening to you?” Geralt whispered, sounding sad. Why would he be sad when he’d been so angry?

“Restore him, Destiny. This is the right moment. Otherwise, this could never be explained.”

“Geralt would never treat him the same, if we left this, and Jaskier would go near insane over what was wrong with him.” A sigh. “He was supposed to _leave_.”

“As always, Destiny, your brother has defied you, and changed things before you had a chance to see.”

“He’s good at that. Making his own destinies overwhelm mine.” Another sigh. “Come on, brother. This won’t hurt any less.”

A brush came across Jaskier’s temple. And… a gasp came quick, his eyes snapped open. He was wrapped up in Geralt’s arms, safe within them. Like he should have been, should always be.

Despite that, he scrambled out of the hold. Geralt had… held him, so it must have seemed like he was dying… Well, while the heartbreak didn’t hurt any less, knowing who he was had calmed it enough to breathe right. To break love itself, _was_ breaking the god of love, and that hurt like a bastard.

Geralt was gaping at him, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. The sudden change must have been a shock enough, but what was about to come next would surely shake Geralt to his core. He stripped off his doublet, and pushed up the sleeves of his chemise. Just to show, fully. Hopefully then, understanding would come quicker.

With a small smile, Jaskier spread his arms out and let his golden lines trail down from his collarbone rather than merely appear. Geralt’s shocked expression only became more intense. As his lines finished their track down his arms, he touched the heart upon his forehead, and let the fuzziness of love itself cloud his heartbreak.

“Jaskier…?” Geralt whispered.

“Hey, Geralt.” Jaskier gave himself a good shake, feeling a little more like himself again. “So, Destiny just restored my memories, and I remember I’m a god.”

“You’re a…”

“The god of music, love, and the fate of hearts.” He gave a blinding smile, which didn’t calm the expression upon Geralt’s bewildered face.

“A god…” Geralt stared at him, unreadable. “Then why did you appear human?”

“Destiny needed me to be human so I could meet you.” Jaskier thinned his lips, glancing around. “Obviously, it went wrong, because I wasn’t supposed to remember for another year.”

“Why now then?”

“The heartbreak might have shocked it. None of this was supposed to happen.”

“Heart– break?” Geralt choked out.

Jaskier tossed his head to one side, chuckling. “Oh, dear heart, you’re my fated.”

“I’m… what?”

“A god such as I could not be born without a fated heart myself.” Jaskier knelt in front of Geralt, who was still kneeling, like a lost puppy. “I’m sorry that there was deceit, but blame Destiny. She set this path before I was born.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s eyes were wide, like there was a fear there, “you’re telling me you’re a god, that we’re fated, and that Destiny is a person?”

“She’s my sibling, and yes, she is a god too.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No, dear heart.” Jaskier gripped his shoulders, staring into his eyes. “Not at all.” He drew back with a sigh. This was too much. He was being _too much_. “You wanted me to go… and I will, if you still want me to. But I promise you, I will beg Destiny myself to give you an easier time, if you need me to leave.”

“I was… But this?” Geralt frowned, glancing away. “This is unbelievable.”

“You’re in shock.”

“And you’re a _god_.”

“Yes, dear, we have established this.”

“No we haven’t. I haven’t–” Geralt’s eyes hardened, and he faced Jaskier straight on. It was almost threatening, but to Jaskier, it could never be. “You know everything.”

“I do, somewhat.”

“How long have you been ‘human’?”

“Since the day we met.”

“Did you know what would happen?”

Jaskier bit at his bottom lip. “Destiny told me you would break my heart. And I knew your path, how Destiny and my actions bound you, Yennefer, and Ciri together.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Ciri?”

“Your Child Surprise.” He frowned. “Your destiny is very convoluted, and the actions you have chosen over the years, they have been, in some ways, your downfall.”

“Fuck…” Geralt stood, pacing back to his earlier position. He stared out for a few seconds before turning around, looking at Jaskier like he wasn’t really there, like he was someone else. Which was fair. He was beyond human, beyond a monster. He was beyond living ones as a whole. “How old are you?”

“Melitele, my mother, made me over one thousand years ago. At first, when I was a young child god, I was bringing gnomes, dwarves, and elves together. Then the humans came, and my work shifted. There was suddenly a lot more bloodshed involved.” He took a long winded breath. “Then, I felt my being change, when you were born. Though, I only ever knew of your presence in the world, the stories. I didn’t seek you out until I was meant to meet you.”

“So… destiny as a concept is real.”

Jaskier nodded, standing up. “Two types. Destiny of one’s path, their life. And destiny of one’s heart. The two can conflict and change each other. For example, many centuries ago, I brought an elf and human together. A battle sparked between their families in the small village. Few survived. The fated elf and human did, however.” He had never looked back on those days with a fondness. They had been a sneak peek to the horrors that followed. “Destiny saw the village thrive, but my work destroyed it instead.”

“Destiny didn’t know it would happen like that.”

“Precisely. What I foresee through love, is different to what Destiny may foresee.”

Geralt swallowed, nodding. “So, what do you see with me? With us?”

“Mmm, no. Not answering that one.” He turned and picked up his doublet, putting it back on.

“Why not?”

“Because you…” This tore at Jaskier’s heart, more than it was already torn, “love Yennefer.” He let his lines fade, and with a sigh, faced Geralt. “And if I told you... Besides, I see less with us, because it is not for me to see what we become.”

Geralt looked anywhere but at Jaskier, his expression was lost, confused, hurt in a way that surely couldn’t be explained. “Who is she bound to?”

“A mage called Istredd. But now that I’m back, I will review that tie. She deserves to be with someone who doesn’t betray her.”

“You can,” Geralt’s eyes snapped to him, “unbind people?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier glanced towards where Yennefer had walked off. He closed his eyes and searched for her heart. She was upset, but not nearly as heartbroken as Jaskier expected. He found Istredd fairly quickly, locking onto him in some Nilfgaardian land. Searching the both of their hearts, he chortled, as soft as the wind lapping at his hair. They had changed, yes, as he had determined years ago. But not enough to be freed of their tie, they still matched…

The heartbreak that had come from the end of their relationship had caused… _well_. He had never seen a situation like it, not before, and not since. Especially not one in which a woman felt compelled to cure her disability in such a horrific manner, as if Yennefer hadn’t been beautiful to begin with.

Her heart itself had been tainted by the procedure. She would never have beauty, certainly not from using magic, for beauty was the soul, who one was. Not some fake culture living ones had come up with during this era. It had nothing to do with bodies or faces.

And yet… she still held some form of love towards Istredd. He… couldn’t _tell_ if it was romantic or platonic. He had made as many platonic ties in this world as romantic (they were just as important of course), so he should have been able to tell, but then, why would he?

Yennefer and Istredd had already defied their destiny (partly because of Jaskier, but that wasn’t exactly his fault). No, there was a strong platonic love there, perhaps the true form of their relationship. Or maybe they had to build back to a romantic love. He could not tell, and he was far too scared to push forward and see more… Too scared to see a battle he’d rather not think about.

No, both Yennefer and Istredd deserved the balance they could give to each other. If only they believed in their love, in whichever form it came in. They could still go onto love others in a romantic fashion, perhaps to find more than Jaskier had first given. To find a different love now that their hearts had changed, and were open to something new. Or perhaps they would fall back into each other again.

He did not know.

He opened his eyes to see Geralt staring at him, mouth parted.

“Did you just untie them?”

“No. They’re… still matched, whether it’s a platonic or romantic love I feel… they are still very much in love and care deeply about one another. They just… hurt each other a long time ago, and defied their destinies because of my tie.” Jaskier sighed, wishing he understood what was happening with their bond now, but he couldn’t, it was far too complicated for even him to understand. He shook his head. “You really did mess something up with your djinn wish, by the way. Your heart and Yennefer’s are slightly blackened by it. If needs be, if you both wanted me to, I can break it.” He smirked, thinking on how magic felt to him now. As a human Jaskier, it had felt grand. Now, it felt much lesser. “A god’s power outweighs a djinn’s magic.”

He knew his advice was probably unwanted, but he knew best. He was made to know best when it came to hearts.

“I–”

“No, I know. Too much at once. Let’s just get off this mountain. You can ask questions on the way.” Jaskier began to move, to walk away, when he noticed Geralt wasn’t following. “You know, I was serious before. If you still want me to go, you never have to see me again.”

Geralt looked to him, to the view, turning, as if this had really knocked him on his back and tore him to pieces. “Answer me this one fucking thing, Jaskier, why a Child Surprise?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the truth.” He pondered on Destiny, about her paths… Maybe there was a clue, something that made sense… “That wasn’t my will, it was Destiny’s. I knew it would happen, but I don’t know why. Maybe my sibling thinks fatherhood will suit– _Oh_.”

“What?!”

“It’s family. A found family. The love that brings? That’s your destiny, finding the family you thought you could never have. Sure, you have your brothers, but a child, Yennefer? They’re who you’re missing. A daughter and… Well, I’m not sure what Yennefer would be, but I know that regardless of the wish or not, she is part of your destiny.”

Geralt stalked towards him, and for a brief moment, Jaskier thought he was going to be pushed. But, luckily, Geralt only stepped close, expression still angry. Destiny was what he hated most, and here was Jaskier, a god of it. “Why are we fated, when your sibling surely must have set the path that led to the wish in motion?”

Jaskier stepped back and laughed. Oh… Geralt would not understand this for a long time, the forces were much too large for a living one to grasp well. “You were meant to break my heart, that was the point of the wish, well, more the point of Yennefer and you than the wish itself.” He gestured to himself, to the mountain. “This was not meant to happen, I was supposed to leave you, and come back into your life in a year.” He sighed. “Yennefer’s purpose in my destiny was to make sure you would break me. That you would break a god of love, the god of fated hearts, so that I may understand love better.”

“Why would you, a god of love, need to understand it better?”

“I choose who to tie, and to know how to truly do that in the best way, was loving you as a human, without my true memories.” He wiped his eyes, finding them full of unshed tears. “I fell in love with you in the most natural way, and yet, after all these years… I’ve lost you instead.” He closed his eyes, the sadness too heavy to keep them open. “I’ll leave you, it’s what you want.”

“ _No_ ,” Geralt growled. “Don’t leave.”

Jaskier smiled, without joy. “Then I won’t, but you have to promise me something.”

Geralt stared at him, the hint of anger still present. “What?”

“Do not see me differently, I am still the person you know.” He swallowed, thickly. “And do not treat me like a god. Not you, please.” He worried his lip. “I am not above you, I am your equal.”

“But you’re above others?”

“I do not want to be a god to you, but I am still a force of destiny, music, love. I am not the same as a living one.”

Geralt folded his arms, a sceptical eyebrow raised. “You don’t want me to worship you.”

“No.”

“Good, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.” Jaskier turned, looking at the mountain path. “Can we go?”

Geralt moved beside him. “Let’s.”

Jaskier grinned. Well, that was certainly a long moment of ups and downs. But now Jaskier knew what love was, the sacrifices that could be made for it. The whole charade, these decades, had been worth it. For loving Geralt was the most he had ever felt at one with his being. With the love that he harboured within.

And though he could have lost him, as they made their way down the mountain, he was still at his side. Asking questions, in which Jaskier either had a clear answer, a murky one, or refused to say anything at all.

Sure, Geralt hadn’t said anything about _his_ feelings, and Jaskier was fairly sure his love for Yennefer was real (although he couldn’t truly tell due to the wish), but Geralt was his fated, and he was Geralt’s. There was no escaping that, and Destiny had once, long ago, hinted that they would kiss.

It was possible that there would be a romance soon, but not yet, not until Geralt was ready to accept everything Jaskier was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, hope you guys are enjoying the chapters so far!! Next chapter is certainly gonna be softtt
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on [tumblr!](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


	5. Soft Mess

Geralt had been acting strangely. At first, it wasn’t so obvious, but now, Jaskier was sure something was amiss. It had been months since the mountain, and after about ten thousand questions, Geralt had eventually stopped asked, and things had returned to normal. In a way. They travelled together, Geralt took contracts, and Jaskier sung in whichever tavern would take him (but rather than making the whole town _see_ their fated, he merely sung like any other bard would).

No, Geralt was… Jaskier had seen it before, in his work, hearts giving gifts to their fated when they began to _see_. Except, that wasn’t what Geralt was doing... right? He was still tainted by the djinn’s magic after all, and Jaskier couldn’t exactly... sing to make them both _see_ , they’d been tied years before even Jaskier was born. They were in a unique situation. No living ones he’d tied had ever been close to experiencing this situation.

So, no, Geralt wasn’t courting him... Right?

The gifts had started small. A few sweets here and there. A bouquet of buttercups. Then raspberries when they were out of season. Staying in more taverns because Jaskier insisted upon it (if only Geralt realised that was because Jaskier was concerned for his health). The slow but steady increasing conversation between them, that felt like the sweetest gift of all, especially because Geralt actually listened to Jaskier’s nonsense. But it didn’t stop there, because then came the _horse_.

Jaskier had insisted that because he was a god, he did not need a horse. For one, he could teleport in the blink of an eye, and two, he wouldn’t grow tired. But Geralt justified this by saying Jaskier had wanted nothing more than a horse in their travels, and if he really wanted to maintain he was the same person, then he had to get a horse. Really, it was just another gift, a nice gesture to show he cared. Or at least Jaskier believed it meant that, maybe, he wasn’t sure.

Nevertheless, he’d gotten a white gelding, called him Pegasus, and he loved him to bits. Jaskier had never formed a bond with his own animal before. He and Roach were friends, but Pegasus was his, and _it was different_. Every so often, when Jaskier was grooming or feeding Pegasus, he would notice Geralt gazing at him, with a soft smile on his lips.

The latest gift really explained all the contracts Geralt had been taking lately. Jaskier was standing in front of a cottage, a ruffed up one, that had probably been abandoned for a decade. It was on the coast, overlooking sand dunes, the beach, and the sea. It had been well thought out, the location, the idea of it, the timing (just at the edge of summer).

“You mentioned the coast,” Geralt murmured, after Jaskier had been silent for far too long. He was simply too dumbstruck to utter any words.

Because this… He couldn’t understand it, not really. Gift giving was a form of courtship, but it wasn’t Geralt’s thing, really. Their funds were always running low for some reason or other, and Jaskier kept them afloat for most things with the coin earned from singing, while Geralt was using his own to buy things? It was impractical for one. Secondly, there wasn’t any need for it. Unless Geralt was trying to tell him through hints, but this wasn’t enough to gleam what he wanted from Jaskier.

He’d certainly made no communication about where their relationship would head now. Hadn’t even been briefly touched upon since the mountain.

“You… bought a cottage on the coast because of what I said?” Jaskier turned to face him, taking his eyes off the cottage for the first time. “That’s sweet.”

“It can be a safe place, for us to come to.” Geralt gestured towards it. “We’ll have to rid the windows of the ivy, and clean the inside, and the roof needs repairing.” He frowned at it. “It’s not much right now, but we can make it… a home?”

“Home…” Jaskier murmured, taking a step towards it. He closed his eyes and _pushed_ his mind forward. Far enough that he could skip upcoming events, but not so far that it would spoil what the future held for them. The cottage was pretty much done, its grey stone bright, the roof repaired with good quality slate, and the ivy was being neatly kept in place. The cottage was surrounded by plants, flowers so bright, and Jaskier grinned. Yes, it was perfect.

A home with his heart…

He opened his eyes and turned to Geralt, arms stretched outwards. “Right then, when can we get started?”

Geralt’s lips twitched upwards a tad. “Today, if you’d like. We can make a start on the ivy.”

Jaskier clapped his hands together. “Brilliant.”

They made a swift enough start, hacking it away with Geralt’s steel sword. Jaskier would pull at the vines, making it ever so slightly easier for Geralt to slice through them. Jaskier used his dagger (which he kept around for show now, because he felt like it, not because he would use it) to neaten up the edges so that the ivy didn’t look as if a rampage of herbivores had run by and eaten it, leaving a torn mess behind.

Jaskier stripped his doublet off as they were halfway through the other window, claiming to be hot. The warm air was a soothing balm upon his skin, even if he didn’t actually get hot or cold, sometimes he allowed himself to feel it. Maybe it was a sort of nostalgia from when he thought himself to be human, or maybe he just liked the idea of Geralt seeing him sweat from the sun beating down on them.

“You could just make yourself feel cooler,” Geralt said as he hacked more of the ivy away.

“Yeah? I guess so, but then, where’s the fun in that?” He held out another section of ivy, and Geralt sliced through it cleanly. His blade was awfully sharp, and the ivy was no match for it. “Not being affected by anything gets boring, I have to entertain myself somehow.”

Geralt hummed, cutting away the last of the ivy upon this window. He stepped back with a small smile. “Shall we take a break?”

“We should. We can sit in the grasses, and you need to eat for your efforts.” Jaskier held up his dagger. “I’ll just neaten this up, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Okay.” And Geralt was off, approaching Roach with such a gentleness that he only reserved for her.

Jaskier watched him, as he pulled food from the saddlebags and found a spot in the short swaying grasses to sit. There was a lightness to him, that hadn’t been with him for weeks. More than likely due to him keeping the cottage a secret. Jaskier chuckled to himself as he cut excess leaves away, there had been a few coastal contracts over the months. Geralt must have been scouting for a cottage like this, something cheap and cheerful, a little project for them to work on together…

A grin stretched across his face at the thought. The care that had gone into this, how Geralt had taken his words and _understood_. It mattered, probably more than he realised.

He sheathed his dagger once he was done, and turned to Geralt, who was now _very unfairly_ shirtless. It took Jaskier’s breath away in a rush, the softness of the scene before him. With the cottage looming in its friendliness, Roach grazing, Geralt laying back on his hands, his chest strong, his arms even stronger. And then the food beside him, laying on his folded up shirt, partly eaten.

Gods. He was beautiful. The affect Geralt had on him, it never faded. Couldn’t. He was his _heart_.

“Why this cottage?” Jaskier asked as he approached, hoping the subject would take his mind off of Geralt’s godly chest (because, by all the gods, that chest was nothing short than a blessing from his fellows).

“This part of the coastline is warm, and northern enough to be far from Nilfgaard’s territory.” Geralt gazed up at him, like he was… his friend, his heart, but not like he was a god, and he would be forever thankful for that. “There are plenty of towns nearby, and Oxenfurt isn’t far. I thought… maybe you’d like that, since people worship you the most there.”

Jaskier flopped down next to Geralt, beaming. “I don’t care much for people worshipping me, but I have always liked Oxenfurt. One of my favourite places, simply for the romance of knowledge.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t you care about that?”

“They pretend to know me, but they don’t. They twist my being into something I’m not. And many ignore the fated hearts part of me.” Jaskier picked at the grass, mumbling, “It’s the most important part of me.”

“Because… you bring people together? Tie them?”

“Exactly. Most focus on my love, or my music, without realising I cannot be me without all three.” He smiled, with a sad note. “But, I suppose, I don’t care if they misinterpret me.” The smile that crept upon his lips was happier now. “All that matters is that my fellow gods and _you_ know me.”

Geralt gazed at Jaskier for a long moment, a concerned pinch to his brow. “I don’t think I’ll ever know all that you are.”

Jaskier shook his head. “One day you will, years from now. Not that I _know_ , but I know, you know?”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “I know.”

He lay back, staring up at the clouds. The cool sea breeze brushed over him like a gentle kiss in the night. “My home, the lands of the gods, it’s similar. But rivers run golden instead of blue. The air is always warm, a light always shining. I don’t go often, Destiny and I prefer the Continent, to watch. But ever since…” He placed his hands on his stomach, turning his head to look at Geralt, who was gazing down at him. “Now that I’ve lived by your side for two decades, I never want to go back. I love it here, and so this cottage… it is my greatest dream. A home upon the lands I love, truly love.”

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever spoken about your home.”

“I… haven’t been back in a long time. My mother and my auntie Freya would love for me to go home, but I can’t, not now that I know you.”

Geralt gave the softest smile Jaskier had ever seen upon his face. “You choose to stay because of me?”

“I would say it’s because you are my heart, but more than that, it’s because of how I _feel_.” He smiled with his eyes more than he did with his lips. “I’ve tried to spend these months getting to know you as my true self, and I’ve fallen ever deeper.”

“How do you love? Is it the same as… What do you call us?”

“Living ones. And, yes, it is the same, but maybe more intense too? You see, I feel all love and all heartbreak in the world, I’ve just learnt to let it in as and when I want to. The way _I_ love is more demanding on my soul.”

Geralt reached out, tucking a lock of hair behind Jaskier’s ear. “I think I’m beginning to _see_ , as you put it… I’m– I know my heart longs for you, and each second we’re apart it yearns. It… hurts, Jaskier.”

“It does…?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier could hardly believe it, couldn’t stop the grin spreading upon his face either. That was good news, that confirmed that their tie did in fact exist. It was doing what it was meant to, bringing the two of them together. To _see_. The heart yearning was the side effect to not acting on feelings. Normal for any love really, but this yearning was different, because it physically hurt, causing the heart to beat weirdly, like it was trying to squeeze itself dry. And very possibly could if it went on for long enough, but that never happened because of the _seeing_.

Jaskier wasn’t affected by it, he was a god after all, but Geralt was a living one. That made all the difference.

“That’s good news, my dear heart.” Jaskier grasped Geralt’s hand and entwined their fingers. “That hurt and yearning you feel, it means you are ready to love your fated.”

“Can we… take it slow?” Geralt glanced away, hair falling in his face. It was like he was ashamed to ask.

Jaskier sat up. “Geralt, look at me.” He did so, hesitantly. “Going slow is my only pace. It’s the only way I can enjoy life. So, _of course_.”

Geralt, with his free hand, ran a finger up Jaskier’s forearm. “Can I see your lines?”

He… had asked about them, since the mountain, but had never asked _for them_. It had been a while since Jaskier had let them show, even to himself, in private. Maybe he was scared of them, because of what they meant. Before, when he thought himself human, he’d believed he would be the first one to go out of the two of them. But he wasn’t human, he was a god… and he couldn’t die. Which… well…

He let his lines fade into existence upon his skin, for Geralt, just for him now. The gold was a welcoming sight to him, and he pulled his hand away from Geralt’s to push at his sleeves, to see the way the golden light curled around his upper arm. He pulled at the fabric at his chemise, wishing to tear it off.

“When was the last time you let your lines show?” Geralt asked, quiet.

Jaskier curled his hands at his chest, balling up the fabric. “Not since the mountain–” He drew in a sharp breath, tears pricking at his eyes. “I– I was too scared of what you would think if they prolonged, or what they meant…”

“They remind you that you’re a god.”

He nodded.

“Why is that bad?”

“ _Oh_ , my darling dearest heart… I can’t die.” Jaskier wished he could close his eyes and fade from the world to avoid this conversation, but instead he looked to Geralt, whose eyes were widening. “But _you_ can.”

Geralt regained his composure, however, gazing at Jaskier like he held light itself. “You have a plan, though, don’t you?”

Jaskier sighed, hands dropping from his chemise. “I have the power to make you immortal, if you’d want that someday. But not yet, not until you know.” He smiled gently, gazing at Geralt just as lovingly. “And you _will_ know, if you want it or not. It would be a profound feeling. Only then would I accept your consent.”

“How much would it hurt you if I died?” Geralt murmured it, so lowly, Jaskier wouldn’t have heard if he were human. “You screamed with heartbreak.”

“I… could possibly level an entire kingdom’s civilisation to dust.” He brushed his fingertips across the heart on his forehead, fuzzy love drowning out the thought. “If not an entire kingdom, miles of towns and villages would be rendered to rubble.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah…”

Geralt reached out, skittering his touch across Jaskier’s collarbone. “Can I see?”

Jaskier glanced down to his stomach. It had been a long time since he’d seen those lines. “Yeah, okay.” He carefully took his chemise off, flattening a hand against his stomach. The deep red against the glowing gold, all interwoven, the rune clear as ever. His symbol of being. “It’s been… centuries since I’ve had these lines exposed.”

“You didn’t look at them when you got changed?” Geralt wondered, almost idly as he stared at the symbol. He touched one of the outer red lines with such a delicacy.

Jaskier huffed a laugh, more to himself than anything. It was definitely certain that Geralt had a lot to learn still. “Gods don’t need to get changed, we can materialise clothes around us.”

“Why is that a power you have?”

“Destiny jokes that we wear clothes because of Lilit being too attractive, and that the power to manifest them came from Dana Meadbh, who decided to take mercy on us.” Jaskier shrugged. “This all happened before I was born, so I don’t entirely know if it _was_ because of Lilit, but Dana Meadbh did give us the power.”

Geralt smiled, and he continued to trace the lines upon Jaskier’s stomach. He lay back on his hands to allow for better access. “You gods seem… carefree?”

“We are, for the most part. But you should see Coram Agh Ter when he’s at work, or Svalblod when he’s watching over a battle, or Sedna when she’s had a bad fucking day. We can be as monstrous as some of the creatures you kill.”

“Monstrous should not be a word used to describe the gods.”

Jaskier hummed. “Maybe, maybe not. But that does not negate the fact that our work can lead to the greatest of tragedies. You’ve seen it, what Destiny can do, I’ve told you the consequences of my actions, the terrible powers gods possess. We are unstoppable, unkillable, and yet we keep a balance? It’s so… complicated.”

Geralt dragged a light finger over one of the notes. “I can see why.” He trailed his hand up, cupping Jaskier’s cheek. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything,” Jaskier breathed.

“I need the wish broken. I cannot start… this, with you, if it’s still active.”

“I will have to ask Yennefer’s permission first.” Jaskier covered Geralt’s hand with his own. “And then, if she agrees, I will break it. But I will not do it without the consent of you both. Okay?”

Geralt nodded, looking vulnerable. “Okay.”

“Would you like me to go now? I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, we can continue on the house when you get back.”

Jaskier smiled. “We’ll make it a nice afternoon.” He ducked away from Geralt, throwing his chemise and doublet back on. “Won’t be long.”

And he was gone in a blink. It wasn’t hard to find Yennefer, in fact, it wasn’t hard to find anybody, for it was part of his skills to know where every living one was. To find them, to know if their heart needed to be tied. Still, Yennefer’s destiny beat so loudly that she was easier to find (which only amounted to cutting down the time it took by a millisecond).

He’d appeared in the alleyway in… Beauclair. Right next to a tavern, in which Yennefer was inside. He brushed down his clothes and squared his shoulders. He looked human again, no lines present. Sometimes he wished he could proudly proclaim that he was a god, just so he could truly show himself, but that would expose too much, and would surely open the door to people persecuting his kind.

He slipped into the tavern with a practised ease, eyes flittering over the crowd. He was sure a good few recognised him, which, really, in the long run would not benefit him in the slightest. On the other hand, having a human persona probably wasn’t that bad, for people would never suspect him. Bar the ones that had when he hadn’t known who he was. But those were simple slip ups, repressed memories could do that. Now he was fully in control, that would never happen again, unless he wanted people to know.

Yennefer was sitting near to the door, easy for a quick getaway if she needed, but far enough into the tavern to enjoy herself. He weaved through the tables and plonked himself down in the seat opposite her. Luckily, she was alone.

“Jaskier?” she said, raising one eyebrow.

He leant forward with a smirk upon his lips. “Not human. And yet, nothing like I’ve ever come across,” he quoted. A small part of him rejoiced as Yennefer jolted, her eyes rolling back in her head. Having one’s memory restored wasn’t a fun process, but soon enough, Yennefer slipped back to reality, her lips parting.

“What are you?”

Jaskier sat back, glancing around the tavern. He, very carefully, faded from all but Yennefer’s eyesight, and showed his lines. “Only you can see me right now, so don’t talk.” He took his doublet off so she could see his arms. “I’m Julian, the god of music, love, and fated hearts.” He let his lines vanish and allowed people to see him. “Everyone can see me again, you can speak freely.”

Yennefer tilted her head. “You expect me to believe you’re a god? You could be a mage.”

“You have your memory back now, what did your magic tell you?”

“That you weren’t… anything like I’ve seen.”

“Exactly.” He folded his arms. “ _Come on_ , Yennefer.”

She shook her head. “I refuse to admit _you’re_ a god.”

“Look,” He leant his arm on the table, “Geralt wants rid of the wish, I came to ask if you want it gone too. If you do, I can break it, _instantly_.”

“You can do that?”

“I can. The wish has… blackened yours and Geralt’s hearts.” Jaskier stared down at the stains upon the table. Oh, to be a simple stain. “Hearts are the most precious thing in this world, to have yours cast in the ash of a wish that _tried_ to do my job is not only an offence to me, but an offence to your very heart…” He flicked his eyes up to Yennefer’s. “Of course, the wish was not your fault, it was Geralt’s stupid decision, but it had to be made, so that _my_ heart could be broken. Your destiny and Geralt’s are intertwined regardless. The wish, on the other hand, was one way to make sure I’d experience the pain of a thousand heartbreaks.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes slightly. “You love Geralt.”

“He is my heart.”

“How can a god have a witcher for a fated heart?”

Jaskier smiled, Yennefer was catching onto the terminology quickly. “I don’t know. We were tied before I was born. Maybe it was Destiny who tied us. Maybe it was Melitele or Freya. I have no idea, because the _only_ person who can tie hearts in this world is me.”

“Curious.” She leant forward as well, eyes piercing. “So you can remove the wish?”

“Yes.”

“When did Geralt find out you were fated? How long did it take for him to request this?”

“Almost a year.”

She hummed, nodding. “That seems about right. He found out on the mountain, yes?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t stop smirking, thank the gods for Yennefer, honestly. Her quick wit was allowing her to catch on at a tremendous speed, and that benefited the both of them as of right now. “Go on, ask what you really want to know.”

Yennefer inhaled, slowly, and slunk back. “Who is my fated?”

Jaskier stared at her for a long moment. She had been so young when he’d tied them… “Istredd.”

A light bloomed in her eyes, before a frown settled upon her lips. “You… tied us?”

“I did. You were so perfectly matched, but my tie was to set you on a path of heartbreak. And then you defied your destiny.” He rubbed his hand up and down his arm. “After all this time, you’re still matched to each other. You love him still.”

“I…”

“Too much?” He nodded to himself. “Sorry. What do you say, do you want the wish gone?”

Yennefer stared at him, hands resting in her lap, as her brow slightly pinched. “I can’t believe this is real.”

“Oh it is, believe me it is.”

She curtly nodded. “Get rid of it.”

Jaskier smiled and leant on his elbows, entwining his fingers together. He pressed his face up against his hands, as if he were praying, and closed his eyes. He searched deep in Yennefer’s heart, latching onto where the wish’s poison had spread. He let his mind drift to Geralt and wandered into his heart, finding the same inky black poison latched onto it. There was a tendril that stretched from them both, to the other. He grabbed where the tendril was connected and pulled, ripping it from them.

Their hearts cleared up in an instant.

He opened his eyes and smiled. “You’re free.”

Yennefer seemed to study him as her eyes darted around. “In your professional opinion, would it be worth it, letting Istredd in again?” She said it with a vague hope in her tone.

Jaskier shrugged one shoulder. “That is for you to decide. But know that fated hearts can’t escape one another forever. He was the one to see you first, not your power, Yennefer, _you_.” He stood. “Keep that in mind.”

She tapped her fingernails off the table. “I will.”

He was out the tavern and gone in an instant, back at the cottage in a blink. Geralt was still laying upon the grass, and his eyes lit up as they settled on Jaskier. More of the food was gone too, it was good to see him relax, to be at ease. Like this life wasn’t cruel to him, constantly.

Jaskier shrugged his doublet off once more and knelt beside Geralt, grinning. “You’re free of the wish. It’s gone.”

Geralt sat up. “Really?”

“Yes. You are no longer bound by a _djinn’s_ false tie.” He spat the word out, because how _dare_ a djinn ever try.

“And my heart, is it still blackened?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No, it’s clear.”

Geralt sighed out, in relief it appeared. He tossed a small smile Jaskier’s way. “Then we can start this, without the wish looming over me.”

“We’ll go at your pace.” Jaskier smiled, cupping his hands in his lap. “You’re the living one here, I think you should take the lead anyhow.”

Geralt tilted his head. “Do you know how relationships work?”

“Technically, yes. Emotionally, not so much. But I do know that when I believed myself to be human, my life burnt ever brighter in your company. I knew I wanted to hold you when times got rough, as they so often do. I knew I wanted to give you the best of nights, _good memories_ , something to hold dear of our time together, so you could look back fondly, no matter what… And just being with you was enough for me, even when jealousy destroyed me and heartbreak clawed at my throat, being at your side was all I wanted.”

“You really love me…”

“I do.”

Geralt shuffled closer, taking Jaskier’s hands into his own. “I still don’t know how this can be, but know that I’ve been falling for you ever since the mountain.”

Jaskier entwined their fingers and squeezed. “Oh… dear heart, I understand now.”

“What…?”

“You needed to know what I was before you could begin to _see_. To look into my heart and _know me_ as your fated.”

It made so much sense to him now. For when he made ties, it was like the living ones in question saw what was in one another’s hearts, to know that they were meant… _Oh_. And because Jaskier had been hidden to Geralt, it had stalled his seeing for years. Decades. Longer than any other tie would endure.

“So… I _see_ and _know_ you?” Geralt stared deep into his eyes. “Why is your power complicated?”

Jaskier smiled ruefully. “I didn’t know it was until you. Although, we may be different, our tie may be different.”

“Should we make it up as we go along?” Geralt asked, eyes bright with the hope of an explanation of… all the things Jaskier didn’t know.

“We should. It would be _exciting_.” He stood in a fluid motion, tugging at Geralt’s hands. “Can we get back to the house? Before I do something like spontaneously kiss you on the cheek?”

Geralt tried to suppress a smile, but it burst into a beaming one instead. “You’re ridiculous.” He stood as well, keeping their hands joined. “You can kiss me on the cheek. I would count that as going slow.”

Jaskier raised one of Geralt’s hands to his lips, kissing it gently. “I will allow you to make that first move. For now I will be nothing but a gentleman.”

A huffed laugh passed Geralt’s lips. “I’m glad you’re gentle with me.”

“What else could I be?”

“More godlike?”

Jaskier frowned, a furrow settling upon his brow. He stepped close. “I am a soul, just as you are. I was not born like most gods are… I belong here, with you. All I can be is gentle because I want you to feel safe with me. And I will always ask you before I do _anything_ remotely intimate. I can promise you that.”

A softness settled in Geralt’s eyes, it was positively warming. “Thank you, Jask.” He dropped a kiss upon Jaskier’s forehead, smiling into it. “Thank you for being you.”

Jaskier’s cheeks flared up, and he was almost sure he was blushing. “You don’t have to thank me for that.” He grinned, tugging Geralt along. “Shall we get started on the other windows?”

Geralt let himself be tugged. “I think I need a shirt, I definitely need my sword.”

“Your sword? Yeah. A shirt…?” Jaskier smirked. “Do you _really_?”

“Hmm, I suppose that can be negotiated.”

Jaskier pulled them to a stop. “Then do whatever makes you comfortable, my dearest heart.”

Geralt broke away from him, sauntering over to their things, only to return with his sword. He pointed to the windows with it. “Shall we?”

Jaskier clapped his hands together. “Absolutely.”

\--

_“Loving you should be easy,  
But it’s really fucking hard,  
As you make me cry,  
When we’re laughing,  
Because you’re soft, dear heart.”_

He hummed as he continued playing his lute, letting the melody curl around the trees, settle into the ground. So that the land itself knew Jaskier was in love, so charmed by his heart that his own soul was fit to burst. It was special, this, their relationship. Between a god and a living one, like this? It was impossible, and would surely never happen again. Not unless Jaskier himself tied one of his fellows to a living one (though that was highly unlikely).

“How did you train him to keep steady?” Geralt asked, a smile upon his lips.

Jaskier shrugged, giving Pegasus a quick pat. “My music can calm animals. That and I’m fairly sure Roach trained him.”

Roach’s ear’s pricked back, and Geralt gave her a good stroke, along with a small tickle. “That’s my girl.”

“How far out are we?”

Geralt tossed a glare towards him. “You know everyone and everything, you know exactly where we are.”

Jaskier smiled, glancing to Geralt with nothing but amusement. “Come on, dear heart, entertain me with my request. It gets boring to know everything, let me pretend every once in a while.”

“We aren’t far, another hour and we’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” He settled his hands back on his lute. “Tell me, what song would you like me to sing?”

Geralt bowed his head, a smile clear. “The one about the house?”

Jaskier knew how much he loved that one, even if he was too insecure to ever truly admit that. It was a simple ditty about their house building project, about them being at the coast too, but the lyrics were heartfelt and truly came from the heart. “Coming right up.”

He played the song to his heart’s content, and played many more after that. Some at the request of Geralt, others because he felt like it. After a while, he went back to composing his first song, making the main message of the song being that love wasn’t fucking easy, nor simple. He’d seen enough over the years to know that, and not only seen, but loved himself. These months with Geralt had shown him, truly, all that love had to offer. It was happiness and frustration, life’s joy and the temptation to scream because ‘ _for fuck’s sake, Geralt, you’re meant to keep plants alive! Not dehydrate them with sea water!’_.

That last particular event had taken place only last week, when Jaskier’s prized rose was maliciously taken down by Geralt. He _claimed_ it was an accident, but Jaskier knew it was nothing of the sort! For his rose bush had been encroaching on Geralt’s fairer flowers, beginning to stave them of much needed light. They both knew he was lying, for Geralt had gained a vast knowledge of plants over the summer, as had Jaskier, and he knew fine well that sea water was too salty for their plants.

The garden had been coming along so nicely too, and now they were down a rose bush.

Even so, Jaskier could hardly hold it against Geralt, it had been incredibly funny, and he’d almost immediately fessed up to what he’d done. With sarcasm to boot.

Soon enough, they had arrived, and Jaskier drew in a large breath of air. This city… He’d never had an in depth look, never really needed to. Tying hearts here had often resulted in nothing but simplicity, with no battles (as the fated could run off and not bother with their families ever again). There had been a few scuffles, sure, but nothing Jaskier had ever stayed for. Besides, people worshipped him too much, especially ones who were students of or lecturers in the poetry and philosophy departments.

“Oxenfurt, you are a dear,” Jaskier whispered as he jumped off Pegasus, pulling his reins over his head to guide him.

“Ready to explore?” Geralt asked, coming up beside him, having hopped off Roach.

“Let’s get these two in a stable, and then I’ll consider roaming the university halls.”

They did just that, and soon enough Jaskier was walking through the courtyard of the academy wide eyed. He could feel a lot of love here, not only between people, but the love they held for their subjects, for the things they were passionate for.

He stretched an arm outwards, letting the wind brush through his fingers, carrying with it the information he wished to take in. The romance, the heartbreaks between unfated ones hurting each other despite being in love. It was… just so perfect. University brought a lot of joy to living ones, that knowledge entering their soul, but it could bring a lot of relationships that burrowed too deep and ended up hurting in the end.

A tingle hit him, and he tilted his head, twitching slightly. “Oh… Ah.”

Geralt came to a stop as soon as Jaskier did. “What is it?”

“A strong love… with a hardy signature that only few could have…” He closed his eyes and _yes_ , he was right. “It’s Yennefer and Istredd.” He looked to Geralt with a grin. “They’re in the library. Wanna go see?”

Geralt’s eyes darted around the surroundings for a moment. He eventually settled on Jaskier and shrugged. “I haven’t seen Yennefer since the mountain.”

“It’ll be okay… Hopefully. Maybe?” Jaskier smiled, reassuringly. “It’s been more than a year now, and she’s with her heart. That can only be good.”

“Can it?”

“Yes, you know this, fated ones are better together, simply because your fated makes you want to be better. To be the best you can be. They make you fall in love with love, even if it has hurt you in the past. It’s about being with someone who knows you, who wants to know you because they can _see_ you. It’s everything, a fated, and they can understand better than most could dream to.” He nudged Geralt with his elbow. “So, are you coming?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Jaskier bounced with anticipation, as they made their way through the halls to Oxenfurt’s library. Excited for what he’d see between them. To see the love that they harboured for one another instead of merely feeling it.

He’d been living amongst people for so long now, he never wanted to extract himself again. Never watch from afar. Except, he was affecting things more directly than ever before, which wasn’t that good, a force of destiny being directly involved. Of course, he didn’t go around telling people who he was but… Yennefer had to know. Geralt was his heart, so he had to know. And he was sure others would end up knowing one way or another, for reasons currently unknown to him.

He supposed there was nothing too bad with select people knowing he was a god, but if word got out… Well, he didn’t want to know what would happen then. Because what _would_ happen? He was living amongst them, as if he were a living one, keeping up his human persona. What would they do to him if they knew?

Bursting into the library with a force behind him, he swirled around, following his senses to find Yennefer sat at a table, hidden between bookshelves, with Istredd passionately explaining a slice of history to her. The book spread out in front of them was being carefully looked after by Istredd’s delicate hands.

“You see, this book may be so old that it mentions certain creatures being abundant, when they’re now extinct,” Istredd said, calmly explaining as he turned a few pages.

“And while many people believe– Oh, Jaskier!”

Jaskier settled a hand at his hip. “Yennefer. Istredd.” He nodded to the both of them. “It’s good to see you together.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here?”

“We were in the area?”

“We?” She glanced around. “Where is Geralt then?”

Jaskier – quite suddenly – realised Geralt wasn’t right beside him. He stepped out of the alcove and glanced behind a bookshelf, finding Geralt there, looking awfully out of place. He extended a hand.

“Now, since when have you cowered from anything?” he asked, smiling slightly.

Geralt sighed. “It’s…”

“I know, dear heart. But I would swear on it, the bad blood will not linger.” Jaskier offered his hand.

Geralt put his hand in Jaskier’s, nodding curtly. Jaskier guided him to the table, where they both hovered opposite Yennefer and Istredd. He watched closely, noting that Yennefer’s expression stayed mostly neutral, while Istredd seemed to be mildly confused.

“Geralt,” Yennefer said, “it’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Yen. How are you?”

Yennefer raised her eyebrows, her eyes shifting to Jaskier. ‘ _Did you do this?_ ’ she communicated telepathically.

Jaskier smirked, how did she know about the telecommunication ability? Was it because of Destiny’s interruption back at Rinde? Probably. ‘ _He did it all by himself. Communication is his forte now, well, almost._ ’

She glanced to Geralt. “I’m good, thank you for asking. How are you getting on these days?”

Geralt, minutely, squeezed Jaskier’s hand. “I’m getting on fine.”

“Good then.” Yennefer turned to Istredd. “Istredd, this is Geralt and Jaskier. I told you about them?”

Istredd raised his eyebrows. “Oh. The witcher and the poet. You do make an interesting match.”

‘ _Does he know?_ ’ Jaskier asked Yennefer.

‘ _No_.’ Came her swift reply, then, _‘I wouldn’t betray a god like that_.’ She smirked.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Interesting, yes. You both make an even more interesting match than we do, if the stories hold true.”

Istredd parted his lips, and he turned to Yennefer. “I didn’t know there was _gossip_.”

“Things get out.” Yennefer shrugged. “Jaskier just knows these things.”

“I know a lot about history.” Jaskier pretended to check his nails. “Before the Conjunction.”

Istredd’s eyes lit up like any living one’s would at the prospect of _before_. The idea of it. Of what the world looked like, what life itself was like. Bloody, but a lot less fucking dangerous for the living ones. “How do you know?”

“Now that would be telling.” Jaskier peeled away from Geralt and slid into a seat. “If you can promise to keep a secret, I’ll tell you _one thing_. For Yennefer is dear to the story of today, and the future, and you’ll be there, alongside her. The future holds family for us all, and one day, you’ll realise, and then you’ll have to know anyway.” He sat back, folding his hands in his lap. “You may as well know now, get this over and done with.”

Yennefer huffed a laugh. “Do you talk of the future often? Surely people must find you strange.”

“I know who to act normal around. I only truly speak of the future amongst people who need to know, because they’re part of the larger story. Of my time living amongst everyone.”

Istredd blinked a few times, eyes darting between Jaskier and Yennefer. “Are you a recluse? An isolated mage? A…”

“I’m a god, Istredd. I know some of the future, as I’m a force of destiny. And I know one day, without this, you would have been a bit miffed that I hadn’t told you after fifty years, or something akin to that.” He grinned at the way Istredd’s face fell. “It’s nothing but the truth. I am Jaskier, otherwise known as Julian, the god of music, love, and fated hearts. I tied your matching hearts together decades ago, and you’ve never stopped matching since. Honestly, even with everything, your hearts still yearned, and now, you’re in each other’s presence again, and I love that.”

“A god?” Istredd said, carefully. He turned to Yennefer. “He’s a _god_?”

“Apparently they make them that way, yes,” she replied with a smirk.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “At least I was born from golden rivers and termed a masterpiece by all the gods, that’s more than you can say for some.”

Yennefer’s eyes pierced him, but he was immune to such things. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you the youngest?” Istredd’s eyes snapped to Jaskier. Even with the question, there was nothing but suspicion.

“Yes… The existing gods couldn’t handle the way living ones matched, didn’t have the power to do anything about it, so I was made. I had a good two hundred years before the Conjunction.”

“Then what can you tell me?”

Jaskier bit back a smile. “You still don’t believe me.”

Istredd narrowed his eyes. “I don’t.”

“Before, things were quite peaceful. The gnomes had these clustered regions, full of prosperity and hope. There was so much _love_ too. The dwarves coexisted with them, as they do today. And the elves created beautiful architecture in peace. With those people, living, there was all the love in the world. Sure, there was still bloodshed and all that entails, but nothing like what came after, or even what occurs today.” The sceptical look did not leave Istredd’s face, so Jaskier extended a hand, letting his lines trail down to his fingertips. “I am a god.” He tapped his forehead and let his heart show. “I am not lying to you.”

He let the lines fade as quickly as they had appeared.

“Believe him,” Geralt said. “If he’s right about the future, you’ll have to anyway.”

“He got rid of the wish I told you about…” Yennefer touched Istredd’s arm, catching his eyesight. “He’s given you information, what to look for.”

Jaskier chuckled, nodding along. “History is what you’re made for, Istredd. I can hardly do your work for you, but I can give you that one insight. I trust that you can fit the rest of the pieces together.”

Istredd glanced down at the book in front of him, slowly shifting through the pages to one particular section. “Is this the oldest book?”

“That you can find in a library? Maybe. There are books everywhere, but they are not the only source of information.”

“Is it possible to find that history?” His eyes flicked up to meet Jaskier’s, quickly returning to the book.

“If anyone can do it, it can only be those who are passionate, and _you_ are passionate.” Jaskier smiled. “Now, tell me, I can feel the love that flows between you, but I cannot pinpoint which kind it is.”

Yennefer got this glint in her eye, almost unrecognisable. But Jaskier was sure it was a gentle kindness. “We’re working it out as we go along.”

Istredd hummed as he continued to read, Yennefer leant closer to him, reading over his shoulder once again. They were beautiful together, friends or lovers, it didn’t matter. They were matched and loved each other. That was more important than what they were. Jaskier had lived long enough to understand that. Had _loved_ long enough.

He glanced up at Geralt with a small smile before looking back to them. “Would you like to be left alone? I don’t want to impose. And Geralt and I were planning on exploring the city anyway.”

Yennefer glanced up at him, softly. “Yes, Jaskier. It was nice seeing you.”

Jaskier gaped at her. “No insult?”

“Mm, you were kind, so no insult this time.”

Istredd looked to him again. “Whatever you are, god or otherwise, I appreciate the information you told me.”

Jaskier bowed his head. “Glad to be of help.” He stood. “We’ll meet again, sooner than you’d think, and in times less peaceful.”

A crease appeared upon Istredd’s brow. “Something terrible is coming.”

“Worse than terrible.” Jaskier thinned his lips, eyes settling on Yennefer. “Be careful, it won’t end like you think it will.”

Yennefer appeared to be almost startled by that, but recovered quickly. “Thank you, for the warning.”

He hummed and turned to go. “Goodbye for now.” As he wandered away, Geralt bid them a goodbye as well, and caught up to Jaskier as he strode back through the library towards its exit.

“What do you know?” Geralt asked, more out of frustration than curiosity from the sounds of it.

“Bits and pieces. Slaughter is on its way, Geralt. Cintra will no longer be safe for Ciri in only a couple months.” He placed a gentle hand at his arm. “But do not fret, dear heart, we’ll have the chance to protect her from it.”

Geralt nodded stiffly. “Good.” He rolled a shoulder. “Do you want to continue touring the academy?”

Jaskier shook his head, gazing at Geralt. “Let’s not. How about we head to a tavern and relax, we’ve been working so hard on the cottage, and you’ve been doing so many contracts, we need it.”

“I like that plan.”

“Me too.”

Later, after they’d compared different Toussaint wines for the simple fun of it, they got a room and headed up. Jaskier waved his drunkenness away as they entered the room, the wine left his body colder, and spun his head for a brief second. He let some of the alcohol affects stay, leaving him a little tipsy. Pretty much the same as Geralt, it seemed. It had been an enjoyable afternoon and evening, with Jaskier getting some much needed writing in too.

“How was your first day in Oxenfurt?” Geralt asked as he peeled himself from his armour.

Jaskier took off his doublet and draped it over a chair. “Better than expected. Of course, I didn’t get to explore much, but it was an enjoyable day nonetheless.”

“Hm, we can explore tomorrow.” He carefully placed his armour and the bags at the foot of the bed, and stalked up to Jaskier. “For now, we should get some rest.”

“Mmm, yeah, we should…” Jaskier settled his hands at Geralt’s waist. “Can we cuddle before rest though?”

Geralt inched closer, leaning in to place an oh so gentle kiss upon Jaskier’s lips. “Of course.”

They got ready for bed, huddling close under the covers, with Jaskier curled around Geralt, head pillowed on his chest. Geralt was stroking his fingertips down his golden lines, that he only let show when they were comfortably alone.

There was something awfully wonderful about their love that he hadn’t seen much of before, in his long life. A soft slow love that was perfectly unhurried. They were at a point now where kissing came as naturally as breathing when they were close. Traded as often as words.

When it came to things like sex, things were progressing, but in a soft fashion. Lazy almost. They never went entirely… what were the right words? He was unsure. Perhaps… making love? Yes, that seemed right. It was calm, in ways, and indeed lazy now that he really thought about it. There had been no wild exploration, nor had there been a frantic heat to it. It was very much slow, like they were allowing themselves to settle into it.

Jaskier had no doubt that was partly due to Geralt’s request for them to take their time, paired with the knowledge that all of this was still new to Jaskier. Being in a relationship. He was a god still trying to work out the kinks of living life as a living one would. There was every reason to take it one step at a time, peaceful in their approach to every intimate part of their relationship.

He smoothed his hand up Geralt’s chest, to rest at his shoulder, curling around him more so. “Dear heart, I need you to know something.”

Geralt let out a soft chuckle and kissed the top of his head. “Is it that you love me?”

“Yeah…” he breathed out, smiling gently.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Geralt turned onto his side, moving closer to hug Jaskier tenderly. “Can you feel it,” he whispered into his hair, “the same way you do with others?”

“In ways. Yes. It’s like a blanket, while the love I feel for you is a constant pleasant weight on my chest.” He rolled Geralt back onto his back, lying atop him. Geralt raised his eyebrows and Jaskier grinned wildly. “Our love is… intoxicating to feel, while other love isn’t nearly as maddening. I suppose it’s because our love includes _you_ , my dear heart.”

Geralt leant up and caught Jaskier’s lips, kissing ever so sweetly, as he tended to when it came to a question time such as this. “That’s– A blanket?”

Jaskier curled his arms around Geralt and slid back down to his side once again. “A big warm blanket on a winter’s day.”

“Interesting thought. Have we made our love that soft?”

“Yes.”

Geralt smiled, staring up at the ceiling now. “I like it, taking things slow, not…”

“Rushing in?” At his nod, Jaskier continued, “Yeah, I suppose it’s in both our natures to want to rush, but here, there is no such thing.”

“That’s good, because I have plans.”

“Oh?”

Geralt curled one arm towards Jaskier’s back, as another pressed under his shirt. A beat passed on, and they locked eyes. Then, war broke out, as Geralt attacked Jaskier with tickles. They ended up making a right mess of the sheets and blankets, getting them all tangled and pulled across the bed at different angles that made no sense. Jaskier laughed so much that night, he was sure his ribs would break (they couldn’t), and Geralt got just as good as he gave (he ended up halfway off the bed at one point, face going red from being upside down).

It was a mess, they were a mess, but it was a soft mess, and he loved Geralt, with all his heart, with all the love that existed in the world.


	6. Ties Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't upload this chapter yesterday as expected! My wrists burnt every time I tried to use my computer so I took a break for the day!  
> The schedule will stay the same for tomorrow, so chapter 6 today, and chapter 7 tomorrow :D

Jaskier set up the logs, staring at them as if they’d wronged him. “They’re too wet to burn, I think.”

Geralt hummed from Roach, still unpacking some of their things.

Left on his own to puzzle this mess out, he warmed his hands to the point where a living human body would have boiled inside, and the skin would have been marred with third degree burns. Placing his hands upon the wood, it dried up in an instant, and he gladly bashed two rocks together. A spark was made and the fire burst into life.

 _‘Brother…_ ’

Jaskier shot up, head raised to the sky as his mind flashed with a dozen matches. He breathed heavily, heart racing at the mere _concept_. “No, no, no! That’s _evil_!”

Geralt turned to him, from where he’d been setting out the bedrolls. “What?”

“I…” He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to scream at the world. “I have to bind hearts… in Cintra”

“And why are you angry about that?”

“It’s four days before Cintra’s fall.” His arms lay limp at his sides as tears collected at his eyes. “They will die, all of them. I can already hear the screams.”

Geralt stood, his brow knitted. “Why bind them?”

“So they can be together when it matters.” He nearly choked on his own emotions, why this, why now? Must have been because this was the closest they had gotten to each other. _Shit_. A dozen matches in the same place at the same time… They had doomed themselves. “So they don’t die alone… Fuck. Fuck all of this.”

Geralt stepped close, curling his hands around Jaskier’s arms, rubbing up and down. “It will be okay. This is…”

“Part of the job? Yeah, it is, and I’m fucking sick of it.” Jaskier knew there was no hope to the world right now, that hearts would be torn apart by the empire expanding, already had been further south. And soon, they’d begin to take the north. “Still, I have to go, Destiny called for me.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, maybe, I’m not sure.”

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face, kissing his forehead. “I believe you’ll do what is needed. Even if they die, they will get to be with their heart.”

Jaskier glanced downwards. “Yeah, but that doesn’t make any of this any better. It’s still… shit.”

“It is.” He kissed Jaskier on the lips now, sweet and gentle, like he was trying to push comfort onto him with the action alone. As they parted, Geralt whispered, “Who knows, maybe your ties can change their future.”

Jaskier smiled. “Maybe…” He placed a hand at Geralt’s chest. “Thank you, that reminded me not all is set in stone.”

“I’m glad. Now go to Destiny.”

Geralt let him go, and he stepped back, disappearing in a blink. He searched Destiny out and understood why that location had been chosen. A good point to stand, to watch while this had to happen.

Jaskier appeared on the tower, which had a very good view of Cintra and its people. Destiny was beside him, and she squared her shoulders, looking out with a rough determination. Svalblod was to Destiny’s left, as bulky and tough as usual, looking almost monstrous, and he was, in ways. Morrigan was to Jaskier’s right, with her raven hair and that vague magic that wrapped around her.

The group that was to overlook and watch over this tragedy were together, and it had been a long while since he had seen his cousins.

As he and Destiny were siblings due to their control of fate, other gods were their cousins. Morrigan and Svalblod were siblings, due to Svalblod being war, cruelty, and sacrifice, while Morrigan was magic, war, and phantoms. Similar in their war.

“Hello, brother,” Destiny murmured. “Are you prepared?”

Jaskier clenched his jaw, he wasn’t ready to give out the ties yet, but that would come, in time. For now, he had a question. “Svalblod, what did you once tell me about love and war?”

“Swords will destroy love before it ever has a chance to defeat war,” he stressed, gruff, the very sound of a battle on his tongue.

Jaskier hummed. “While I wouldn’t normally agree with you,” He cast his eye upon the people going about their lives, only days away from ruin, “we’re about to see just that.”

Destiny lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, that this moment is almost here. I know it will be hard on you both, Svalblod and Morrigan. It is a lot of work to watch over a battle such as this.” She scowled. “Where is Coram Agh Ter?”

“I’m here,” he said, darkly, stepping beside them on the rooftop. “Although I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Death and cruelty is your forte.”

“Hm, perhaps, but then, it’s unpredictable death, is it not? This battle is your greatest plan, Destiny. So… predictable.” He smiled and bowed to them. “I hope you have fun, my fellow gods of death–”

“War,” Morrigan corrected as Svalblod grunted disapprovingly.

“–and to you Destiny, I do hope all goes to your plan.” His dark eyes settled on Jaskier. “The god of fated hearts should not see this, you will be broken.”

Jaskier huffed, amused at Coram’s naivety. “I have seen war, and I have experienced all the heartbreak one can surely endure. Do not see me as lesser because I am not war, cruelty, or destiny of one’s path. This battle will be brutal, and the heartbreak of all fated one’s losing their hearts will be felt for miles, but I will not be broken.”

Coram nodded, tilting his head back and forth. “I am sorry, I should not doubt your ability to endure. You did live as a human for twenty-two years, after all.”

“I did. Now, run along if you do not want to be here.”

“I will.” He turned to go, before stopping. “Although… there will be some sudden deaths. Like the Queen.”

“Then stay,” Destiny said, not looking towards him now, but instead looking to the centre of town, the castle. “You can watch as Jaskier gives out his love, and ties the last hearts in this city together.”

“Hmm, nah, I think I’ll pass on that one.” Coram left them with a laugh, but it sounded sympathetic. He was a great many things, but cruel to his fellow gods? Never, not in a million years.

Jaskier stepped closer to the edge, tilting his head at the people below. “To watch from a distance separates us from the actions. If I’ve learnt anything, being in the middle of it all is terrifying, and I have no idea how they live their entire lives like that. Knowing that at any moment, on any day, it could all be over in a split second.”

“Few will survive the night when it comes,” Morrigan said, head bowed. “Those that will, may be slaughtered later on when Nilfgaard marches forth.”

“That’s why I’m taking Ciri with me tomorrow, no matter what.” Jaskier shot a glare Destiny’s way as she began to gape at him. “Not even you could stop me.”

“That is not the plan!” Destiny exclaimed, her tone thick with disgust.

“It’s _my_ plan, and you’ve never been able to stop me. You won’t now.”

“Fine, brother, but know that you can’t escape Nilfgaard that easy.”

He folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Do not believe me to be naïve. I know what living ones are like, and I’ve tied plenty of hearts in the Nilfgaardian empire. I know them as well as you do, and I know that wherever Ciri goes, they will follow. But they will not catch her, she’s under my protection now.”

Svalblod whacked Jaskier on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Fatherhood would suit you well, cousin. I imagine your heart is just as fiercely protective.”

Jaskier turned and smirked, puffing his chest. “Perhaps even more than me. He cares, unlike any other. You must understand him, a different war calls him.”

“Your heart, Jaskier, is fighting a war that cannot be won.”

“And the magic he fights against,” Morrigan interjected, “is strong. Chaos reigns, uncontrollably, even to us. How could one man, or a group of men dream to ever win the fight against _that_?”

“Hope,” Jaskier said, firmer than any voice could. It echoed in the surrounding area. “It’s the hope for a better world, and it may never come, but there is hope. Maybe one day, maybe never, witchers could hang up their swords and rest in a world with no monstrous creatures… But we know monsters are more than creatures. The work would never end, instead it would have to evolve, reach into…” He trailed off, not wishing to finish that thought himself.

Svalblod scoffed. “Ah, cousin, I see. They would have to become assassins instead, or something of the sort. Not entirely soldiers.”

“Precisely, Svalblod.”

Destiny stepped towards the edge, the edges of her hair sweeping in the wind. “Jaskier, my dear brother, it’s time. You can’t delay this any longer.”

He hummed and stepped up beside her. “Fine then.” He glanced to Svalblod and Morrigan. “Have you ever seen me do this?” They both shook their heads. “Well, prepare for my music, it can be… loud.”

That did seem to faze them as they came up beside him. He let his lines burst onto him, and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes, searching for all the hearts, for their match. He reached his arms out and let a pulse of light cast out, to settle over the city. Slowly, quietly, he began to sing. His voice murmuring the sounds of lyres and lutes, amongst other instruments that existed in the lands of gods but not yet with living ones. It spread out, only to circle around those who needed to hear.

The lyrics came then, about bonding in a time of crisis, when the clock was running down, when they had no time left but to love their match, but to make the most of it. Death would be bloody, but at least they wouldn’t be alone like so many others. To love, to lose, all too quick, was the metaphor of time that only mortals understood. Nothing lasts forever, not even a life. And in four days, they would experience the true monsters of humanity.

And all the tied hearts would feel the true anguish, the heightened fear, of losing their fated. Most wouldn’t survive at all. Very few would be left as one. And even fewer would make it out alive together. Jaskier, the god of _that_ , of their ties, would experience every snap, every tied heart lost. He didn’t know if he could push all of that from his mind, or if he would crumble with the hurt…

Drawing his hands back, he curled them around his heart, and sung the last of the song, letting the chords of instruments fade from his throat.

“They are tied,” he whispered to Destiny.

“Wonderful.”

Svalblod placed a hand at his shoulder. “That’s what you do?”

“Partly yes, although it tends to be more focused on an individual basis.” Jaskier smiled up at him. “But yes, that’s what I do.”

“Then I commend you, cousin. That is a hard job, and I don’t think we all appreciate how hard it must be, especially since you fear their deaths.”

“The ones I just tied, they won’t make it out alive.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Like knives, small but sharp.”

Svalblod nodded to himself. “You will survive, and find a thousand new hearts to tie.”

“Indeed, but for now, I will prepare to mourn.” He inclined his head to Destiny. “Can we talk for a second?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

They peeled away from Svalblod and Morrigan, to the other side of the tower. Jaskier curled his arms around himself, allowing the cold to seep into his bones. There was something poetic, about what he was going to ask. A god asking another god for insight, one force of destiny to another.

“What happens?”

Destiny smiled, cruelly, smugly. “Oh, I can’t tell you that, and you know I can’t tell you that. You’re in this now, whether you like it or not. You’ve woven yourself into these events. I can’t influence you, you only have your own sense of future to rely on now.”

He sighed out. “Shit. Can you tell me anything?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes… There will come a moment where you mustn’t break.”

“What…” He shook his head, scrunching up his face. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll know, soon.” She shrugged, arms outstretched. “That’s all I’m willing to say.”

Jaskier stared at her for a moment, recognising that this situation was exactly like when he spoke to Geralt about destiny. The, _‘I can’t tell you, but I can say this_ ’ statement, immediately followed by a sliver of destiny. “Alright, thank you.”

“Anytime…”

He pulled her into a quick hug, pulling back a second later. “I will see you on the other side.”

Destiny smiled. “I suppose you will.”

“Bye, Destiny.”

“Goodbye, Jaskier.”

He turned and waved to Svalblod and Morrigan before he left completely, teleporting back to his and Geralt’s camp. The night was young, and yet it had felt like he’d been on that tower for an age. Returning to camp was familiar and welcoming. With Roach and Pegasus neighing at his sudden arrival, Geralt jolted up from where he’d been stoking the fire.

“How did it go?” he asked, quietly.

Jaskier had been staring into the flames, feeling weak from the idea of the battle. “Can you hold me?”

Geralt’s expression softened greatly. “Come here.”

Jaskier went, and Geralt got them settled on their bedrolls. He curled around Jaskier, pulling him back against his chest, and warmly wrapped his arms around him. With a small breath, Jaskier closed his eyes, and felt safe. Safe in his loved one’s arms.

Which was absurd, really, because he was a god. He could not die, could not be wounded (if he didn’t want to be). But when he was within Geralt’s arms, he knew the world simply could not touch him. If his fellow gods needed his attention, or if all the heartbreak in the world was overwhelming him, he knew Geralt would keep him steady.

“Any better?” Geralt whispered, after a while.

Jaskier blinked, turning his head a tad to see Geralt gazing at him. “Yeah, thank you.”

“We need rest, don’t we?”

“Tomorrow will be a long day, and the days after that will be even longer.” Jaskier sighed, glancing up at the stars. This would be the last night of peace for a long, long time. From tomorrow, they would be guardians of a child. A child who had a great destiny ahead of her, but a terrifying one. “You need rest more than me.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier even closer, pressing a kiss into his hair, and snuggling into him. “Then I’ll rest.”

Jaskier smiled and settled his hands on Geralt’s arms. “Yes, sleep, my dear heart.”

He drifted off, as they were completely tangled. Jaskier allowed himself sleep too, for the simple fact that it could be the last time he’d have the luxury for a while. But for now, he could pretend things were normal, that this was just another night out in the woods with Geralt. And not only a few days before all things terrible.

\--

They walked into Cintra without a care, finding Calanthe at a blacksmith’s. The snow thinly covered the ground… winter was with them, and with that, the cold would be as fresh as the fires that would burn soon. The faces of those amongst the crowd haunted him, for he could see those who would live… and those who would die in three days. For now, all that mattered was Ciri, and getting her out of here before the worst could come.

Calanthe stopped still as she noticed them approach. Anger and horror lay upon her features.

“I warned you about coming back,” she said.

“I've been away fourteen years and I'd planned on staying that way…” Geralt’s voice was rougher than Jaskier had heard in months, he was already pissed off, before any of this day could start. And rightly so, because this wasn’t going to be easy. “But Nilfgaard are on their way.”

“Well, I'm asking you now. Do not do this.”

Except, there was nothing else to be done, and if Jaskier wasn’t concentrating so much on not saying a word, then he would have said just that. But not here, not in front of all these people. So he kept his mouth shut, standing beside Geralt, looking like nothing more than an innocent bard.

“If you treated me more like a friend than a threat… Do you know the difference anymore?”

That was a fair point, Calanthe probably didn’t. Not that Jaskier had cared to check up on the opinions of the Queen for the last decade. He’d had more pressing matters to attend to, mainly that he had believed himself to be human, but… oh well.

“I'm here to protect Ciri,” Geralt continued, his tone going slightly softer. Jaskier had told him bits and pieces about Ciri, some parts of what he would become to her, and so he had grown somewhat familiar to his Child Surprise, and soon… they would meet.

“Who I've raised as my own. Why would I give my only heir to someone who never cared enough to come back for her?” Calanthe said, anger clear, emotion lacing her tone even clearer.

That was also a fair point. Geralt had left that day, and hadn’t come back for fourteen years. It hadn’t been fair to Ciri, or to any of them in this shitty situation. And now, because they had all been foolish, Destiny… and Jaskier himself had caused all this, because defying them brought the worst of all. He didn’t know why it was that way, but it was, unfortunately.

“Move along, Witcher.” Calanthe turned, walking away. “I'll pay whatever you want.”

“I can't be bought,” Geralt replied quickly, to which Calanthe snapped back around. “You should remember.”

“Money won’t change what was promised,” Jaskier butted in, unable to stop himself. When it came to those who tried to deny… _Well_. “Anyone who dares to go against their destiny, doesn’t live without its wrath for long.”

Calanthe gawped at him before regaining her anger. “And if I win the war but lose Ciri, what _victory_ is that?”

Geralt stepped forward, and the guards reached for their swords. “Maybe that army won't come, and if they do, maybe you'll be ready.” There was no if about it, and Geralt knew that. “But if you have any doubt in your mind that she's safe here, give her to me. Call it destiny, security, what larger forces at work, I don't care. I will take her and protect her. I promise you that.”

“Ciri is all I have left of my daughter,” Calanthe said, shaky.

“If Ciri survives, then Pavetta lives on too.”

Jaskier barely hid a smile as he observed the tears in Calanthe’s eyes, the persuasion had worked…

“Law of Surprise has been called,” she announced to the crowd. “I'll tell Cirilla myself.”

They were told to wait as Calanthe went to retrieve Ciri. When they made their way down the corridor, towards the room they were in, Jaskier could feel the ties constricting around them. This was no easy route, but it was one that had to be taken, not only to protect Ciri, but to fulfil many a destiny.

They were let into the room, and Jaskier took note of the fact Mousesack was there, watching on. Calanthe was sat down with Ciri, talking to her, possibly reassuring her. This was a… time. And letting Ciri leave with two strangers was difficult, for Ciri especially.

“He may take you, but you will always be mine. I need you to be brave now, because who are you?” Calanthe said, her voice comforting, tears were in her eyes.

“The Lion Cub of Cintra.” The girl stood, turning to them.

Oh…

Geralt went to approach but Jaskier stuck his arm out, blocking him. When Geralt looked to him, eyebrows raised, Jaskier shook his head.

“She is not Ciri.”

Calanthe scoffed. “Who are you to say that? You have never met her, _bard_.”

Jaskier ducked his head, letting his arm drop. He chuckled, eyes flicking up to meet Calanthe’s. “You don’t understand, Your Majesty. This is bigger than you realise.” He glanced to the girl. “Run along to your friends, you don’t need to be here.”

The girl nodded and ran, out of fear or whatever else.

Calanthe seethed. “Do not think you and your _witcher_ can take her from me.”

Jaskier took three large steps towards Calanthe. “I _said_ , you don’t under _stand_ ,” he snarled. “If you want your granddaughter to avoid being out there alone, when you, Eist, and Cintra itself fall, then you will let us take her.”

Calanthe glared at him with death in her eyes. “What makes you think Cintra will fall?”

“Because I’ve seen it.” He stepped closer, lifting his chin. “Gods of war will be satisfied when you fall, but gods of love will mourn your passing, for few loves are ever like yours and Eist’s.”

“You speak as if I’m already dead.”

“You might as well be, because your life is drawing to a close quicker than you realise.” He put his hand between them, letting his golden lines show. “Let us take her now, and spare her the cruelty of war. _Please_.”

Calanthe stared at his hand with a quirk at her eyebrow. “And if I refuse?”

“A promise broken brings destiny’s wrath. Geralt learnt that well, and so will you, _if_ you deny this now.” He dragged his voice to a whisper. “If we have to take her without your permission, that still breaks a promise.”

She looked up, peering into his eyes. “What are you?”

He laughed smugly at the question. “What I am is none of your concern. What happens to Ciri is.”

Calanthe gritted her teeth in nothing but anger. “Fine. But if anything happens to her before you can return–”

He raised his hands to placate her. “Do not fret, Calanthe. She will be safe.”

She eyed him with suspicion, but nodded, nevertheless. “I don’t trust you, but something like you, you’re powerful?”

“I am.” He had never killed anyone directly before, but he could, easily, if a situation ever called for it. Not that he would want to, there was Geralt for that.

Calanthe turned to Mousesack. “Go get Ciri. I’m not letting this… _thing_ out of my sight.”

Mousesack nodded and left the room, fast in his pace. That was a victory at least.

Jaskier lifted his chin once more. “If you lie to us again–”

“I wouldn’t,” she said quick, eyes trained on him, but there was no hardness to them. A fear, maybe.

Oh. She was scared of him, but understood enough that he was there to protect Ciri, the same as Geralt. Interesting… He wouldn’t have guessed his words could bring Calanthe to fear, but he did have a power curling around his tongue whenever he spoke. That was enough sometimes. Enough for people to see him in a different light, perhaps a monstrous one.

Mousesack returned fairly quickly, with Ciri in tow. She was in clothes that were far too normal for a Princess, and that was perfect for their situation right now. She had time to pack some supplies, but as soon as they could get moving, they absolutely had to go.

“Is she Ciri?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier smiled. “She is.”

Geralt approached her, a softness radiating from him. “Pleased to meet you, Princess.”

Ciri eyed him, brows knitting. “Mousesack said you are my destiny. What does that mean?”

“It means…” He glanced to Jaskier. “What does it mean?”

Jaskier stepped towards them, with a small smile upon his lips. “It means you need each other, it means your lives are interwoven, it means that no matter what comes next you will be side by side.”

Mousesack tilted his head. “You’re a force of destiny…”

“I am.” Jaskier tossed a smile his way. “But not Destiny.”

“Ah…”

“What does that mean?” Ciri asked in a whisper, staring at them.

“Nothing, we’ll tell you, but not yet,” Geralt said, firm. Okay… that was a roundabout way of telling Jaskier to shut up about the future, destiny, and being a god. He did understand that, overwhelming Ciri with too much too early wouldn’t be ideal.

Calanthe approached, taking Ciri’s hands into hers. “You need to pack… You need to go with them.”

“Why, what’s happening?”

“War is coming, and Geralt will protect you. They both will.”

Ciri wrenched her hands away, stepping back. “Why can’t you protect me?! Am I not safe here?”

“This secures your safety. If we lose the battle…” Calanthe winced. Ah, Jaskier’s words had gotten to her. “If we lose, then they will come for Cintra, and when they do, they will slaughter everyone they get their hands on. You must _go_.”

Ciri shook her head, tears building in her eyes. “I don’t want to!”

“For Cintra you will! For your life!” Calanthe shouted, visibly shaking. Jaskier didn’t quite know how she had the resolve right now, torn between wanting to protect her granddaughter, and letting her go for her own safety.

Geralt crouched down, looking to Ciri with a calm expression. “As soon as it is safe, we will bring you back.”

Ciri breathed heavily. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Geralt knew fine well that was nothing but an empty vow, for he knew Cintra’s future. It wasn’t bright, and death was coming for all that lived here. But they could pretend, they could pretend for now to protect Ciri. She was too important.

Calanthe reached out to her. “Come on, my child.”

Ciri nodded, and placed her hand in hers. “Don’t let me go without saying goodbye to grandfather.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

They left the room, surely heading to Ciri’s quarters. Jaskier let out a breath and Geralt stood. A silence washed over them. Even Mousesack only watched with eyes that held theories and suspicions. He’d probably puzzled it out, he was clever about destiny after all.

“How much time do we have?” Geralt asked.

“If we leave in a few hours, we may be able to get far enough away that Nilfgaard won’t find us anytime soon.”

“Who are you?” Mousesack said. “You know destiny but not all destiny.”

Asking the right question… Finally, someone was smart enough. Jaskier bowed his head to him in greeting. “I am Julian. I trust you can work out the rest from there.”

“The god of fated hearts?”

“Indeed.”

Mousesack nodded, eyes shifting to the door. “You know we have no chance.”

“Few do against Nilfgaard.” Jaskier frowned. “Cintra stands alone when it should have stood with many. That was Calanthe’s mistake, and it has cost her everything.”

Geralt stepped towards Mousesack. “Stay safe, old friend. Jaskier has told me about the battle the city will endure, everyone is at risk.”

“I will do my best during these times.” Mousesack placed a hand at Geralt’s shoulder. “Please do protect Ciri with everything you have. She is a wonderful child, and she has endless potential.”

Jaskier glanced to the ceiling, a wash of the future rolled over him. “She is more than anyone gives credit for, even the people who want her for a prophecy.” At Geralt’s and Mousesack’s questioning expressions, Jaskier shook his head. “I didn’t know that before now, I uh… Destiny is revealed to me slowly.”

At that moment, Ciri entered the room with a bag on her shoulder, tears rolling down her face. Calanthe rested her hands on Ciri’s shoulders as they came to a stop. There was much sadness to be had here, but the worst was yet to come. The guards that stood at the door, Mousesack, Calanthe, they would all be dead soon enough.

Ciri lifted her chin, hands clasped around the bag’s strap. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier locked eyes with Calanthe, nodding to her. _‘Thank you.’_

As they left, Ciri didn’t tremble with fear, but shook with what was to come. She was clever, and children always read into the words adults said. From Jaskier’s statements alone, she knew that everyone she held dear would not survive.

She was brave for keeping her composure. Braver still for walking away with strangers to protect her.

\--

After they’d trekked to the village they had left Roach and Pegasus at, Jaskier deemed that Geralt and Ciri needed rest. They had decided to keep going, even through most of the night to get back. Staying, to sleep through part of the day, would allow Ciri and Geralt the energy they needed to ride out and get even further away from Cintra.

Jaskier kept watch as they slept, peeking through the windows to ensure a part of Nilfgaard hadn’t somehow sensed Ciri was not in Cintra. The battle hadn’t even come yet, there was still two days for that. They were _safe_. Still, Jaskier stayed up. It was safer that way, and a habit he would have to get into. Geralt did need rest, and Jaskier didn’t, it made sense for him to be the one to stay up and protect them.

He gave them the entire day to rest, and as soon as Geralt woke, as the evening drifted into the dark night, Jaskier bought some late night dinner for the two of them. Once Geralt and Ciri had eaten, they set out once again. With Geralt and Ciri on Roach, and Jaskier on Pegasus.

They rode through the entire morning, right through the day, and into part of the night by the time they made camp. Geralt caught a couple rabbits, and they ate decently. Jaskier kept watch, while they slept. Cintra had less than twenty-four hours now, a thought that played on Jaskier’s mind for the entire night. And when the first rays of light shone through the trees, the upcoming battle pulsed at Jaskier’s soul.

Time… was it really that time already? He’d felt as if he’d been preparing for it all this century, and yet it had managed to creep up on him regardless, far too swiftly.

They rode, and part through the morning, a sting seared at Jaskier’s heart. The battle… Not just Cintran hearts, but Nilfgaardian hearts were being torn. Long held ties were being shattered, and short lived ones were snapped, as if they had been nothing. His love drained from the dead, sinking back into the air, as the heart left yearned. Hearts knew, could feel the tie dying, and Jaskier could smell that, in the distance.

The smoke of ties coming to an end.

Then, he was struck, nearly falling from Pegasus. No… “Ciri,” he whispered.

Ciri looked to him, tilting her head. “What is it?”

“The battle against Nilfgaard is going strong…” He trailed off, too scared to admit the pain he was feeling was true.

“But?”

“Eist is dead.” He winced at the thought. The heartbreak Calanthe was feeling right now was so strong, Jaskier could barely breathe. “I’m sorry…”

“He’s…” The tears came quick, and she hid her face away. Geralt rested a hand at her shoulder, a comforting gesture, but could hardly help her now. “How do you know?”

“I can feel it.”

“ _How_?” She snapped her head, looking to him again. “Is it like Mousesack said, you’re a force of destiny?”

He nodded. “I’m a god, of music, love, and fated hearts. I can feel your grandmother’s heartbreak at your grandfather’s death.”

Ciri whimpered. “Thank you… for telling me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, mournfully.

They rode on, and Jaskier was finding it harder and harder to block it all out. By the time they made camp, Cintra’s gates had fallen, and he could barely keep himself upright. He breathed, in and out, in and out… Trying to stroke Pegasus, to let him settle his pain, but it did not work. He turned, attempting to make his way to Geralt as he was teaching Ciri to make a fire, when his eyes drifted towards the direction of Cintra.

Transfixed, his arms hung limply at his side, his expression glazed. The pain came rushing in like a burst dam, the flood taking him, drowning him. There was no blocking it out now.

Screams.

Heartbreak.

Unbearable pain.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice, his hand touched his shoulder. “Don’t let it in.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Ciri. Oh… Her grandmother was…

“He can feel everything that is happening in Cintra.”

“What…?” Haunted. Scared.

“Nilfgaard have breached the walls. People are being slaughtered.” Sad, for her.

“How do you know?” Quiet. Low.

“He told me what would happen. What he said earlier, how he felt your grandfather’s death, he is feeling every tied heart being killed. He can feel the ties snapping, and the heartbreak.”

“Why would a god let themselves feel that?”

“Because he has compassion.” Geralt’s grip tightened at his shoulder. “Jask, please, come back.”

He blinked, withdrawing from the pain just enough to block it out. It was as if he could see again when he did so. “They’re being–” He looked to Geralt, frantic. “The worst is happening.”

Geralt nodded, guiding Jaskier with the hand on his shoulder. “I think, tonight, you’re the one who needs rest.”

“I fear, no matter how little we rest for, or how far we ride, there will never be safety again.” He curled his arms around himself. “It’s too overwhelming, the pain, it’s hard to block it out.”

“You’ll manage. You block it out all of the time.”

“This is different. You know why this is different.”

With a sigh, Geralt said no more, instead he got Jaskier to sit upon his bedroll. Jaskier shivered, flashes of what was happening skittered through his mind. He could hear Svalblod and Morrigan at work, Destiny watching over as she sat upon the highest tower. The fires. It was so bright and yet so dark. And the screams, oh, the _screams_.

He cried, shoulders trembling. “I can’t– I can’t– Geralt– This is almost as bad as the Great Cleansing.”

“How did you get through that?” Geralt asked, sitting beside him, pulling him against his side.

“I went home, and slept.” Calanthe… Oh fuck. Oh… _Oh, she was dead_. “I can’t go home now, I’ve got you both to protect.”

Ciri knelt in front of Jaskier. “Won’t we survive without you? You could leave and rest if it hurts this much.”

Jaskier clenched his jaw. “I would rather perish to the pain than leave you now.”

“You shouldn’t sacrifice yourself, you’re a god.”

“I’m now as much a living one as I can be, gods be fucking dammed.”

Geralt jostled him. “Rest, you’re no good blanking out with pain.”

Ciri nodded. “We can watch over you.”

Jaskier looked between them, shaking his head. How could he rest? Nilfgaard would surely be on their heels as soon as they found out Ciri had escaped days before. Calanthe was already dead, Cintra had fallen to them. The stress of that alone was enough to make him choke on the pain crushing his chest.

“No. I’m fine.” He patted Geralt’s chest, and withdrew from him, standing up. He gestured to the bedroll. “Go on, both of you need your rest. You’re living ones, you need to rest. I’ll just…”

Geralt huffed, glaring at him. “Sleep with us then, let yourself rest.”

Jaskier folded his arms. “I don’t need–”

“You told me you love sleep, that it relaxes you. Allow yourself the luxury, we’re far enough away for now.”

Ciri smiled up at him, but it was tinted with her grief. Shit… he needed to tell her. Tomorrow, he’d do it tomorrow. He didn’t want to disturb her sleep with yet more bad news. “If you sleep, you won’t feel the pain for a few hours.”

She was… right. At least then he could wake up to the world with muted heartbreak instead of the overwhelming realisations of tonight. When people screamed at their loved one’s death. “Okay. Okay…”

They curled up together, in the thin blankets they had. It kept enough of the winter cold out (not that Jaskier was allowing himself to be affected by temperatures right now). With Ciri safe, and Geralt at his side, it was enough to reassure him that maybe things would be alright for them.

For now at least.

\--

A week into their journey, and the winter was really setting in. With a good couple inches of snow and freezing days. They’d stopped off at a town, just long enough to buy a warmer (and less royal) cloak for Ciri, and some winter appropriate boots. Jaskier also made sure to manifest some duller clothes from his wardrobe at the coastal cottage. He missed that home, especially since they weren’t going back any time soon.

They were heading up north, to Kaer Morhen, and the journey would be long and cold and awful. For now, they were inching through Temeria by the day. Hopefully, they would get to Kaer Morhen before the winter got too treacherous.

Jaskier was currently keeping watch, as Geralt and Ciri slept for the night. Morning was almost with them, and the night had been very calming indeed. Jaskier had spotted many owls and late night creatures running around. Almost like a calm before a storm. But no such storm was coming for them.

Or so he thought.

“Nothing here, let’s turn back to the path,” some gruff man said.

Shit...

Jaskier faded from eyes and flew up into the air, noting that more than just a few Nilfgaardians were heading their way. How had they caught up to them? Surely they’d ridden hard enough to get far. Sure, maybe he’d let Geralt and Ciri have more rest than they needed but… He had predicted that the Nilfgaardians were desperate enough to travel through the night to catch up.

It looked like a small group of them, no more than thirty, although he couldn’t see enough of them to truly count. Maybe they’d split into groups to try and find Ciri, and that’s why they were here now, far too close.

Jaskier dipped back down to the ground, fading back into reality. He shook Geralt awake, pressing a finger to his lips as soon as he woke.

 _‘Nilfgaardians are here,’_ he spoke telepathically.

Geralt nodded and got up, while Jaskier woke Ciri. He quietly explained to her what was going on as Geralt unsheathed his sword. Just as Jaskier was helping Ciri up, as she was muddled with sleep, a shout came from the trees.

“Here!”

Soldiers came bursting out at one edge of the camp, and Geralt met their steel with his own. Jaskier shielded Ciri from the fight, searching out for a place to hide. This wasn’t good. This was far from good. He needed to get her hidden, just in case any Nilfgaardians decided to nab her mid battle.

“Come on!” he shouted, placing a hand at Ciri’s back, in order to guide her. “Geralt has this under control.”

“Does he?” she whispered, wiggling away from Jaskier. She turned to the fight, spirit sharp.

Jaskier sighed, placing a hand at her shoulder. “We should hide.”

He didn’t think to look at Geralt. He’d fought outnumbered battles a thousand times, and always came out of it well enough. Maybe with a wound somewhere, but nothing too threatening. Jaskier had patched him up enough over the years to know humans weren’t the worst difficulty. So he tugged at Ciri’s shoulder, trying to protect her from this, if he could do anything at all.

She was a _child_. They’d already protected her from the Slaughter of Cintra, now Jaskier had to protect her from this.

Ciri turned with him, whispering, “There’s too many of them.”

“He’ll be fine, _come on_.”

Jaskier found a suitable tree – as they scrambled away – and debated holding Ciri up so she could clamber onto the branches. But before they got close, Ciri gasped as she’d tossed a look over her shoulder. For a split moment, Jaskier thought she’d seen Geralt do something brutal, but the reality was so much worse.

Geralt had been knocked down, and one soldier drove his sword right into his vital organs.

Ciri screamed, running right into the battle. Jaskier chased after her, but the world moved in slow motion, for his heart was bleeding profusely.

“Get away from him!” she yelled, sending all the soldiers flying, reminding Jaskier of the power she held, of the destiny that was up and coming. It was similar to the banquet, in ways, with how the soldiers were blasted away.

Geralt choked, vomiting up blood, he gargled on it, spitting more of it up. Jaskier ran to him, collapsing on his knees. He dragged Geralt into his arms, curling one arm around his shoulders. He raked his eyes over his body, looking for the wounds. There was too much blood to see, completely covering his armour in its redness, in all its awfulness. He patted one hand down him, and upon Geralt wincing, he realised one wound was right through his stomach, and another one must have cut through his lung. His arm was slashed, and his leg was spurting blood…

He cupped Geralt’s cheek, smiling down at him. “I can get you help. I know everyone’s location on the Continent. We can _fix_ this.”

Geralt raised a weak hand, latching onto Jaskier’s wrist. “There is no saving–” He dissolved into a coughing fit, more blood flooding from his mouth.

“I can teleport us. Get you to safety.”

Geralt meekly shook his head. “Just get Ciri out of here.” His blood stained lips stretched into a smile. His skin was too quickly going pale.

“Ha, ha, no. No, don’t do this to me.” Jaskier readjusted his hold, as if to jostle him healthy.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, raising his hand to Jaskier’s face, his thumb swiping at a tear. Jaskier hadn’t noticed he was crying… Geralt’s hand slipped, his eyes growing heavy. _No_. “I love you…”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, firm, moving his hand from his cheek to his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was weak, too weak. “No, not now. You had, _you have_ so much life to live yet! You’re not done!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouted, frantic. He knew what she was referring to. The soldiers were getting back up, slowly but surely.

As much as he would like to teleport the three of them out of here, he wasn’t sure Geralt would survive the trip, not in this state and… He wanted to be wholly present… for this.

However, he could– It was possible he could find a mage– A healer, anything, anyone! Surely he–

The pulse beneath his fingertips stopped. Jaskier pressed, hard, but– nothing. He settled his hand over Geralt’s heart, _there had to be something_.

It did not beat.

“No! No no no _no_.” He shook him. “Geralt.” Nothing. No life. “ **No!** ” The tears came fast, and he took a shaky breath. When the exhale came, a yell followed, and it sustained. He tipped his head back, roaring towards the sky. It came out as more of a growled scream, at the world, at _Destiny_. A shockwave burst from him, and the Nilfgaardians shattered into dust. It was the least they deserved. Because his heart lay in his arms, skin deathly grey, his soul cold.

He continued to scream, in the unbearable pain of his heart’s death, and a light erupted from his lines, as they burnt their way onto his skin. The gold cast out from him, wrapping itself around Geralt as Jaskier screamed himself raw, until he was sure he would die himself.

_“What does it mean, to be born from golden rivers?”_

_“My flower, it means what you think.”_

_“Strength?”_

_“Yes… but your lines, they can do the impossible. They can heal what is broken.”_

_“How?”_

_“You’ll know when the time comes.”_

The light covered Geralt entirely, and Jaskier’s roars died out. He looked down, and concentrated like his very life depended on it. Still, the tears did not stop. “Dear heart, you will be safe with me. Your time has not come. Not yet.”

The light sunk into Geralt’s bones, dissipating from the air. The wounds could begin to heal now, his body would be unmarred by them. He knew, in some way, that his healing could do that. Anything to keep his heart alive. _Anything at all_. That was why he was born from golden rivers, to be powerful enough to withstand hurt, and crush it under his force.

He glanced up, only to notice every soldier was dead. Several trees had been severed clean from their trunks too, lying on the ground in a heap. He frantically glanced around, only calming when his eyes lay on Ciri, who was standing right behind him. Alive, without wounds.

“What did you do?” she whispered, as if noise could spook him.

“I lost control and found a power I did not know I had.”

Ciri stared at Geralt, hands cupped together. “Did he die?”

“Yes.” Jaskier looked back down, feeling for a pulse once again. He breathed out and cupped Geralt’s cheek, smiling at him. “He’s alive.”

“How…?”

“My light… can heal. Something I did not know until now…” He raised his head, eyes tracing the piles of dust, the abandoned weapons. “Fuck…”

“What?”

“I’ve never killed anyone directly before.” He hadn’t just killed them, he’d rendered them to nothing. He’d only ever killed indirectly, when his ties brought battles. Never… Was this the consequence to living with his heart? That he would fall victim to the woes of living ones too?

Ciri approached him, eyes bright with a fire. “You protected us, you saved him.”

“I…” Jaskier looked up at her with wide eyes, tears still within them. “I didn’t know I could do this to protect him.”

She frowned. “You’ll work it out. You’re a god, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“When will he wake?” There was a concerned knit at her brow. She had only known Geralt for a short amount of time, yet it had been enough for her to care, for there to be a worry in her tone, for her to burst out and protect him. It was sweet, really, how quickly living ones came to care.

“I have no idea, but I know where I can bring him to.”

“Where?”

“His home.” He reached out his hand to Ciri, his lines fading from him. “Trust me?”

Ciri tentatively put her hand in his. “You didn’t hurt me when you were in pain. I trust you not to now.”

“Okay, thank you…”

And they were gone.

“This is where he would have brought you, one way or another.” He smiled, arms protectively curling around Geralt as he stared at the keep. “This may be cheating, but we’re here now.”

Ciri stepped forward, a small smile on her lips. “Where are we?”

“Kaer Morhen. The home of the wolf witchers.” Jaskier glanced around the courtyard he’d teleported them to, maybe a witcher would see them and come help. “This is where Geralt comes every winter, all of them do.”

Ciri glanced all around. “Why would I have been brought here?”

“Because you need to be trained.” Jaskier tried to get up, to pull Geralt with him, but he did not have the strength himself to budge him. Worn out, for the first time, by the use of his power. “Can you find help?”

Ciri swivelled back around, eyes concerned again. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

“I don’t know.”

“What the–!” a voice shouted. Jaskier glanced up to see Vesemir approaching from the keep. “Geralt!” He came running over, stopping close, crouching down. “What happened? Who are you?”

“I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s friend.” Jaskier nodded to Ciri. “This is Ciri. Geralt was injured by Nilfgaardians. We were ambushed while we were sleeping.”

Vesemir placed the back of his hand at Geralt’s forehead. “No fever… Where are his injuries?”

“I’ll explain once he’s settled in a bed.” Jaskier shifted one of Geralt’s arms over his shoulder. “Help me?”

Vesemir helped Jaskier get Geralt up, slinging his other arm over his shoulders. They dragged him through the keep as Vesemir guided them to Geralt’s room. Jaskier had never been given the pleasure of visiting here before, and had never done so in his time before meeting Geralt. So, it was certainly strange to see a part of Geralt’s life while he was very unconscious.

He’d always imagined them visiting one winter with Geralt introducing him to his brothers.

They got Geralt settled atop his bed, and Vesemir helped in ridding his armour. But that wound, where the sword had cut right into his organs… It was completely healed. Vesemir looked to Jaskier as if he were mad. He’d said there were injuries, but there were none. How effective was his power…?

“You said–” Vesemir murmured.

“I know what I said.” Jaskier sat at the edge of the bed, staring down at Geralt, his fingers fluttering over his stomach. “I healed him?”

“You’re a mage?”

“No, not quite.” He closed his eyes, breathing in and out. Careful, calming. He could feel Geralt’s chest rise and fall, could feel his heartbeat under his palm. He was alive, he was gonna be okay. “He died.”

“What…?”

“He died and I brought him back.”

“Is what he’s saying true?” Vesemir asked Ciri, his tone laced with none other than shock, a tremble in his voice.

Ciri curtly nodded. “Yes. Geralt died in his arms.”

Vesemir moved to stand in front of Jaskier, eyes hardened. “How? How is he alive?”

Jaskier smiled brittlely. “I have a power, and I healed him.”

“You can’t heal the dead.”

“I can.”

Vesemir folded his arms. “Who are you? No one has a power like that, so you’re either lying, or you’re the most dangerous person this keep has ever seen.”

Jaskier scooted further on the bed, turning more towards Geralt as he brushed loose hairs back from his face. “I am the most dangerous person this keep has ever seen. You don’t need to believe me, Vesemir, but Geralt knows me better than anyone, and I know him. I trust his family.” He looked back to Vesemir. “I healed him, that’s all that should be said.”

“If you trust us, will you tell me who you are?” Vesemir kept his stare level. “I can’t let an unknown entity roam the halls.”

“I tied your heart with Mignole’s, but unfortunately things didn’t end up being simple for you both…”

From that alone, surely he would know.

“You’re not a god.”

“Maybe I’m not, but I definitely am.”

Vesemir scoffed. “Julian would not live amongst us.”

Jaskier turned back to Geralt, cupping his cheek. “He would for his heart.”

Really, Jaskier had sacrificed his entire way of life to be with Geralt. Not that he had returned home in a long time anyhow, but before meeting Geralt, he was simply on the side-lines. Watching, observing. He wasn’t involved. Now, he was. It had changed everything he knew. And he didn’t regret a single thing, and would do it all over again just to be with Geralt.

“You’re him…”

“Hmm. Yes.”

Vesemir shifted beside him, moving towards Ciri. “Can I trust him?”

“He hasn’t hurt me, and he hasn’t hurt Geralt.” Jaskier looked to her, just to see her expression, and there was nothing but a fierce confidence. “In fact, he allowed himself to be hurt by the heartbreak caused when…” She swallowed thickly. “When Cintra fell.”

Vesemir nodded. “Right then.” He turned back to Jaskier. “When will he wake?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never used this power before.” He frowned, trying to bite back his tears. “I’m scared I could still lose him.”

“His wounds have healed.” Vesemir folded his arms once again. “You may have put him in a healing sleep. His body will need time.”

Jaskier nodded, appreciating the advice. He was much older than the man before him, but there was something about him that simply gave off fatherly vibes, so much so that Jaskier felt compelled to be comforted by him.

“You seem young.”

“I am young, for a god.” He smiled, sadly, and turned back to Geralt. All he wanted to do was hold him close and hope for everything to be alright again. He curled his hand around Geralt’s wrist, staring at his closed eyes. _Just open_! He would beg the world, beg all the gods, just for him to see Geralt open his eyes and speak to him again, to see him smile and hear him laugh.

He squeezed Geralt’s wrist and leant down, kissing his forehead. “Be well, dear heart.” Standing, he turned to Vesemir and Ciri. “Will you keep watch over him? I have to talk to a fellow god.”

“There is a wrath in your eyes. What did they fail to tell you?” Vesemir asked, somehow reading him like a book. Which was skilful in itself, never mind the fact that he was reading a _god_ like a book.

“Everything about what transpired this morning.” He bowed his head to both of them. “I will be back soon.”

“Don’t take too long…!” Ciri said, eyes pleading with him.

He smiled and approached her, crouching slightly. “It’s alright, I’ll call the god here, I won’t be going anywhere.”

“Good.”

He patted her shoulder and slipped out of the room. Carefully, he navigated through the keep, to avoid getting lost. Retracing steps wasn’t exactly easy in a new place, but he managed to find the exit well enough.

Jaskier stepped out into the courtyard and faded from all eyes. “ _DESTINY_ …!” he shouted, rasped, called out till his lungs could no longer make an ‘e’ sound.

“What?!” She appeared before him, in her misty form. Her expression was most certainly not pleased.

“He nearly _died_!” Jaskier tensed his arms, gritted his teeth, knowing he could bring the world down to its knees at the memory alone. “You could have told me!”

“You were always going to save him with your power, that’s what it’s there for, to make sure he doesn’t die, either before the right time, or… until he asks to be with you forever. Which outcome occurs depends entirely on you and him.”

He threw his arms up, exasperated. Two paces towards her had him turning to mist. “He died.”

“And yet he lives, because of you. Do not complain to me!”

“You set this path.”

She snorted. “You started it. I told you, back then, _didn’t I_?”

“No, we both knew what was coming… but I didn’t know _this_.” He clenched his fists, snarling. “You should have told me what I could do.”

“Mother begged me to keep it a secret from you.” She placed a hand at his cheek, staring into his eyes. “You’re young, and prone to emotion, she had to make sure you would burst when he died.”

Jaskier let his shoulders slump, too drained to be angry anymore. The implication… that he was, what? Too young to know himself? “Why?”

“So you would know how to kill.”

“I’m a god of _love_! Not death, not war, or cruelty, or any of that!”

“But you are like a living one, more so than any of us. You must kill to survive!”

Jaskier pulled away and retreated into his physical form, brushing his hands together, to feel the skin. “I’m immortal, I don’t need to kill.”

Destiny frowned. “But those around you aren’t. This is the right time for you to know how to kill entire legions of soldiers in one breath. Speaking to you as Destiny herself, I command you to protect the destinies of those around you.”

Jaskier’s eyes went dark as he glared at her. _Destiny_ could fuck off, the idea, and the god. “I can do what I bloody like. I’m a force of destiny, just like you, and you can’t command me to do shit for you.” He lifted his chin. “I will protect their _lives_ , not their _fucking_ destinies, because I _care_. So, do not speak to me as if I am some mortal living one, as if I’m _below_ you. I’m better than what you think me to be, what all of you think.”

“Jaskier, I’m–” Destiny breathed, her voice thick with sorrow.

“ _Don’t_.” He backed away from her, shaking his head. “Don’t speak to me, not until I call for you again.” His face twisted with the pain. “You let me watch him die… I can’t forgive you for that.”

He blinked away, back to the room Geralt was in. Ciri raised her eyebrows in nothing short of surprise at his return. Jaskier nodded to her as he slipped back onto the bed. He noted that Vesemir was standing at a window, one that would overlook the courtyard. He must have seen Jaskier fade in and out of sight.

“Geralt will wake, as to how long it will take, that is currently unknown,” Jaskier murmured.

Ciri joined him on the bed, frowning at Geralt. “You would burn the world to ensure his safety…”

“I would, gladly.”

Vesemir hummed, turning from the window. “Did you find your answers?”

“In ways.”

He nodded, looking as if he was cataloguing that answer for later. “I’ll go see if breakfast has been prepared. I’ll bring you both something.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness despite you not knowing me.”

“You brought Geralt here when you could have taken him to a mage.” Vesemir’s lips curled ever so slightly. “You understand what home means.”

“Home is where we come from, it’s where we pledge ourselves to, it’s what we make. One can have many homes, but their first will be special in its own way, no matter what that means.”

“Careful, you almost sound human.”

Jaskier chuckled, the air stiffening at his joy. “Easy to, sometimes.”

Vesemir hummed again and left the room. On a quest for breakfast, which did sound pleasant after the ordeal of this morning. Ciri scooted closer to him, arm curling around Jaskier’s. He smiled gently at her before turning his attention to Geralt, settling his hand upon his stomach. If only to feel the rise and fall, a constant reminder that he was alive. _That he’d brought him back_.

“Jaskier…” Ciri whispered.

“Yes?”

“Has Geralt been this ill before in your travels together?”

Oh… she needed reassurance. More of it. Plenty! Buckets full of the stuff! She needed to know her destiny would wake. Someone that was quickly becoming a friend, maybe?

“Once. After a fight for the ages… He’d been so wounded by a pack of griffins, that I was sure he wasn’t going to make it out.”

“But he did.”

“He did, after I’d dragged him to Roach and rode back to the town. The healer there got him sorted quite quickly, and he was up the next day.” Jaskier leaned into Ciri a little. “He’ll wake. He’s resilient. He’s come back from injuries before.”

Her eyes were tired as she looked up at him. In the last week, her entire life had changed. From being a Princess, to her city burning, her grandmother and grandfather dead. The threat of her new guardian being taken from her too, must have been too much. “But not from death…”

“I… refuse to let him die. His path will not end here, I can promise you that.”

Ciri rested her head upon Jaskier’s shoulder. “I will hold you to that promise.”

“I would hope so…”

It was a promise he dearly hoped would be kept.


	7. Power

“Why can’t I go talk to him? He’s only a _god_.”

“Better to fear the unknown. Have you not heard the tales of Julian?” Vesemir sounded… wary.

A displeased scoff came quick. Oh… Jaskier could feel who that was. Lambert. A young witcher, compared to the others. “You really expect me to believe we have _Julian_ sitting at Geralt’s bedside? He’s just another lying bard.”

“I watched him disappear in the courtyard.”

“Then he’s a mage bard! Is that new? Come on, you’re old enough to know the gods do not live amongst us.”

“Maybe this god does. But go on, burst into the room with a troubled god inside, who is only wishing for Geralt to wake. See where it gets you.”

Jaskier groaned, opening his eyes. He was lying beside Geralt, having fallen asleep while crying at his side. The fear of him not waking overwhelmed him once Vesemir had set Ciri up in a room of her own, kitted out in more furs than one person would ever need, but at least she would be warm. He’d taken a small break before succumbing to sleep, however, as he retrieved the horses and their belongings from the camp. After that was when the crying came.

Jaskier wanted to stay with Geralt as much as he could, waiting for the moment he would finally open his eyes again. Clearly, being brought back from the dead did not grand the miracle of a fast recovery. Even though all his wounds were fully healed, not a mark to be seen.

He was slightly ticked off though, that Lambert and Vesemir had woken him with their arguing outside. He’d have rather slept until Geralt woke. But with the worry clouding his mind in a rush, he wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon.

With a smile, he headed to the door and yanked it open, relishing in both Lambert and Vesemir jolting at the surprise of it. They must have thought he’d been too asleep to hear them. But that was their mistake, and a bad one at that, since they were _right outside_ the room.

“A mage bard does sound interesting, Lambert, but I promise you, I am nothing but a god.” He grinned, placing his hands at his hips. “I’m not a scary god either. Just love, music, fated hearts… If that _is_ scary for you, then I’m sorry for your poor quality of life.”

Vesemir sucked in a breath, lips curling. “Still believe him to be a lying bard?”

Lambert glared at Vesemir for a moment, rounding on Jaskier after. He folded his arms. “You don’t look godly.”

Jaskier laughed, the sound booming from his chest, echoing through the hall. Loud and powerful. “What do you expect us gods to look like?” He tossed his head from side to side, overjoyed at the prospect of someone _looking like a god_. “Here, this might help you.” He stretched is arms out in front of him, and his lines appeared upon his skin. Much brighter than they’d ever been before…

Jaskier furrowed his brow, examining one hand, trailing his fingers over his lines. He breathed heavily… He was stronger, his force was stronger… Was that the consequence to using that power? Becoming _more_ powerful. He stared at his hands, absolutely horrified. He was– He knew what he was… But could it be? Did Melitele and Freya, and Destiny and Svalblod and Morrigan and Coram and all his fellows, did every god he knew know that he was not just the three things they claimed him to be…?

Was he a god of power? Maybe more specifically unknown power in the face of grief… Who was he?

Out of the fear of it, he brushed his lines out of sight.

“What has changed, boy? You don't look like you know yourself,” Vesemir said, with the tone of a concerned father.

“I don’t… know. And I think that was the point.” He shook himself, dropping his hands to his sides. “Do you believe me now, Lambert?”

Lambert was half gaping at him. “I don’t know what the fuck you are.” His eyes narrowed. “Is Geralt safe with you?”

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder. “Geralt wouldn’t be breathing right now without me.” With a sigh, he stepped back from the doorway. “Have you seen him yet?”

“No…”

“Then come in and sit with your brother for a moment.”

Lambert hesitantly stepped forward, glancing back to Vesemir for a second. His expression held only suspicion and wariness, like he was walking into a trap, but Vesemir nodded and Lambert perked back up, strolling into the room. He stopped short as his eyes lay on Geralt, then he smoothly grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it to the bed, flopping down.

“Vesemir, when did Eskel say he’d get here?”

“By the end of the week.” Vesemir came into the room as well, stopping beside Lambert.

“Let’s hope Geralt is awake then, we don’t want a repeat of ‘54.”

Jaskier moved to the foot of the bed, frowning. “Was that the year he’d gotten himself attacked by four bears?”

Lambert shook his head. “I think that was ’48. ’54 was the harpies.”

Vesemir folded his arms, staring at Geralt like he could see the state he’d been in back then clearly. “We had stabilised Geralt, and knew he would make a full recovery, but Eskel didn’t drink nor eat until he woke. It nearly brought Eskel to his death.”

“His worry…” Lambert whispered. He scowled. “How did Geralt get himself beaten by soldiers?”

“Ambushed us, he’d barely woken up.” Jaskier frowned. “I was too focused on getting Ciri safe to realise how outnumbered he was.” He bowed his head, shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t know what would happen,” Vesemir said. He tilted his head. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone off to rage at a god.”

Jaskier huffed, of course an elder witcher would figure him out in a split second. “I should have known better, should have teleported us here in the first place, instead of dealing with the façade of running.”

“Should have, would have, it doesn’t matter now.” Lambert stared at him, an amused hint to his eyes. “You got him here, to us, where he needs to be.”

“Still, he’s my heart, I shouldn’t have let him… My negligence caused his _death_.” Jaskier stepped away from the bed, covering his face with his hands, digging his nails into his forehead. He wanted to scream. Geralt had died. He’d been dead. He wasn’t awake after twenty four hours, and that was concerning, and– And–

“Are you a god or a child?” Vesemir asked as he pried Jaskier’s hands from his head. A dangerous move, but Vesemir hardly seemed to care. He peered at Jaskier’s forehead, and nodded to himself. “You don’t need to punish yourself.”

Lambert laughed. “Well, wouldn’t you know, the gods are just the same as us.”

Jaskier scowled at him, moving away from Vesemir as well. “In ways, yes. But I lived alongside Geralt as a human for twenty-two years, that changes a god.” He sighed out, looking away in nothing but shame. “I apologise for that display. I should be better than this.”

“He’s your heart, right?” Lambert asked, with more curiosity than a cruel humour.

“Yes.”

“Then your reaction is normal.” He glanced up to Vesemir. “That is normal?”

Vesemir hummed. “Entirely normal.”

Jaskier nodded along, huffing a little. He looked back to Geralt and closed his eyes. Searching. His heart beat bright, his breathing was even, his body was not experiencing an immune response. For all he could feel, Geralt was simply sleeping death off.

He crawled onto the bed and sat cross-legged beside Geralt, stroking a hand down his hair. “If he doesn’t wake within three days, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?” Vesemir asked, head tilted.

“I need you to stop me from screaming.” He trembled at the image of shattered soldiers and fallen trees. Out of curiosity, before he’d slept last night, he searched the Continent for any more damage he’d done, finding out that a few villages had their buildings rumble to the ground. People had died from their houses collapsing in on them.

He’d not only felt guilty, but he’d let himself feel the heartbreak, as a punishment. Just for a little while. He was to blame, but the circumstances were… understandable?

Still, it proved that he was a threat. And if this hurt, this grief, this pain for his heart continued on for any more than three days, he was sure to burst. His mind right now was conflicted between believing Geralt to be dead, and believing him to be injured, and the longer it went on, the more chance there was of Kaer Morhen being brought down.

“Screaming? What’s screaming gonna do?” Lambert huffed an amused breath, a smile on his face, that instantly drained away when Jaskier flicked his eyes to him.

“When Geralt… died, I shattered soldiers to dust, caused trees to be cut clean from their trunks, and rendered distant villages to rubble, killing innocents…” He pulled at the fabric of his trousers, willing himself not to cry at what his outburst had done. “Just… you have to stop me if I lose control to the pain.”

“And you claim to be love, music, and fated hearts?” Lambert shook his head. “That doesn’t sound very love like.”

“Hm, maybe not in the traditional sense,” Vesemir said, thumb stroking his bottom lip, deep in thought. “But love can move entire kingdoms. Love can destroy.”

He smiled as he came to that conclusion. Jaskier watched carefully… maybe he’d been wrong, maybe he hadn’t been lied to. Because love could destroy as much as it created, that was something he’d learnt early on. And when Geralt died, his heartbreak, a facet of love, destroyed all it could in the grief.

“My heartbreak…” Jaskier clawed at his chest. “That’s why my lines glow brighter, because I used my love to save my heart.”

“What did you think it meant?” Vesemir wondered.

“That the gods had lied to me. Maybe they did, maybe not. They treat me like a child, when my power has aged me beyond my years.” He shrugged, tired all of a sudden. “I’d rather stop talking about this. I need time to think.”

Lambert curtly nodded. “Alright, but let me be the first to say, that I will not let you lose control and scream this keep down.”

Jaskier smiled slightly at him. “Thank you.”

Vesemir gestured to the door. “Would you like me to see if Ciri is awake? I can bring her to you.”

“Yes, thank you. She’s… delicate at the moment.”

“I can tell.”

As Vesemir left, Lambert stood. “I’m gonna check if Coën has burnt down the kitchen yet.” He turned away, hesitating to take a step. “Tell us, as soon as he wakes?”

“I will.” Jaskier cupped his hands in his lap. “I’ll telepathically tell you all.”

Lambert nodded to him and left the room. Leaving Jaskier alone, beside Geralt, once again. There was a sort of loneliness to this. A new room, in a new place, with only Geralt’s breathing to keep him company. Sure, Ciri would be with him soon, but she had been silent yesterday, watching Geralt, then curling up in the corner with a book Vesemir had given her, before going to a different room to sleep.

Jaskier wasn’t used to so much silence, especially since he normally filled any vicinity with his own voice. But not now.

And the silence… it terrified him.

\--

“You should talk to one of your gods if you’re worried so much,” Ciri said, snapping a book shut.

It was day two of the three days Jaskier had given himself. And Ciri was right. He could ask his fellows for answers. Not Destiny, she wouldn’t know everything. Not the in depth explanation he needed. Melitele could be too much of a risk, she could easily lock him away if he were to cause any trouble...

So, Freya would be ideal for asking questions.

“Not yet. What if I miss him waking up? I don’t want Geralt to think I’ve abandoned him.”

“He won’t think that.”

Jaskier shrugged, hardly believing her. “I’d rather be here.”

“Okay.” She smiled gently. “You are alright, aren’t you?”

“For now.” He stared at her for a moment. “And you? How are you?”

Ciri’s expression twisted into sorrow. “I’m...” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I don’t...”

“It’s okay if you can’t find words to explain it. You’re grieving, as well as dealing with this. Sometimes a simple ‘I’m not okay' is enough.”

She nodded. “I’m learning to manage.”

Jaskier was proud of her ability to endure pain, for someone of her age who had lost so much. “That’s good to hear.” He settled back against the headboard more so, trying to get a little more comfortable. “Should I tell you the tale about the time Geralt killed my plants?”

Ciri’s eyebrows knitted together, her lips parting in a smile. “I’m sorry… he killed your plants?” Her eyes darted to Geralt, shifting back to Jaskier. “You have a home?”

“We have a cottage on the coast.”

“Oh… That sounds nice. Will we go there one day?”

Jaskier thought of the future, of how the cottage looked once fully complete. It would be a few years yet, but it would get there. Then they’d have a new home… a true place for them. “Yeah, when it’s safe. You’ll love it.”

She nodded, and brought her knees up to her chest, the book resting between her stomach and legs. “Tell me the story.”

“Well, it was a peaceful summer’s morning, and I’d decided to get an early start.” Jaskier grinned, pointing to Geralt. “He can be one to sleep in during summer, a right old fart sometimes.”

Ciri snorted.

“So, you see, when I’d gone down to the garden, I found my rose bush wilting! Consider my shock when Geralt _claimed_ that he’d been watering some of the plants with sea water. Yet my rose bush was browning and surely dying, while the rest of the plants thrived. Especially the smaller flowers my rose bush was overwhelming. _Geralt’s flowers_.”

Ciri gasped. “Sabotage!”

“Indeed it was. Geralt fessed up later that day, telling me he’d killed my rose bush to save his own plants.” Jaskier chuckled softly, recalling the way Geralt was torn between guilt and hilarity. “I found it endlessly funny, especially the methods he’d taken. He could have easily taken a sword to it, but instead he’d been cunning.”

“You lectured me for two hours…”

Jaskier jolted, turning to Geralt so quickly, he nearly went face first into the mattress. He’d… definitely spoken. One hundred percent, with absolute certainty. He placed a hand at his shoulder, as Ciri appeared at the side of the bed, peering at him.

“Geralt, dear heart, are you… awake?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed, a groan escaped his lips. “My mouth… tastes like death.”

Jaskier laughed, hysterically. He dove down, wrapping his arms around Geralt, burying his head into his chest. “You’re awake, you’re awake.”

“I’m… What– happened?”

“You died,” Ciri, unhelpfully, replied. “Jaskier brought you back. You’ve been out for four days.”

Geralt blinked his eyes open, an arm protectively coming around Jaskier. “What _happened_?”

Jaskier raised his head, frowning, the hysteria leaving in a rush. “The bringing you back part, or what I did when you died part?”

“Both?”

“I brought you back with my lines. I didn’t know I could, until it happened. They seem to emit a light that heals you.” He closed his eyes, sighing roughly. “I shattered the soldiers to dust, cut trees with my shockwave, and villages were brought to rubble, innocents died.”

“Fuck… Jaskier…”

“I know.” He pulled back from Geralt, settling cross-legged beside him. “I’m a monster, as bad as all the war-like gods.”

Geralt sat up, the covers falling from him as he inched towards Jaskier. “You are not war, or anything war-like.” He stroked his cheek, eyes peering into Jaskier’s. “You are not a monster. You thought me to be dead and did what anyone with power would do.”

“My outburst killed innocents.”

“We both knew that could happen, I thought you’d become… accustomed to that scenario.”

Jaskier shook his head, turning away in shame. “Different when you died, I lost myself in the grief within a second.”

Geralt flattened his palm against Jaskier’s cheek, pulling him back. For a moment, there was nothing but the warmth of his hand, and the love in his eyes. “That _does not_ make you a monster. It’s a shit situation, all of this is, but what you did, it’s understandable, and you know that.”

“I do.” Jaskier thinned his lips, exhaling shakily. “But what if you’re wrong? I– Look.” His lines faded onto his skin, and he offered his hand to Geralt.

Geralt stared down at his hand for a second, carefully taking it into his own, tracing the lines. His eyes narrowed, then widened slightly as he turned Jaskier’s hand over, narrowing once again as he stared at his forehead. “Your heart is as bright as fire, instead of blood. Your lines are almost blinding.” He glanced over his shoulder, nodding to Ciri. “How do they look to you?”

Ciri frowned, shaking her head. “They’re too bright, I can’t look for more than a second.”

With a nod, Geralt looked back to Jaskier. “Your power?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier murmured. “I think either my love is stronger or… I’m a god of power and have been lied to my whole life.”

“How likely is the latter?”

“Since Destiny let me watch you die instead of warning me, very likely.”

Geralt brushed his fingertips against Jaskier’s lines, pushing his palm against them. His eyes slipped closed, and a smile appeared on his face. “The lines, they’re strong.” His eyes snapped open. “Power.”

Jaskier noticed Ciri sway back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Julian the god of power…” She tilted her head back. “It has a familiar ring to it.”

“Power does go hand in hand with love,” Geralt told him with a grin. “Would it be so strange?”

“Yes. Stranger than anything in the world.” Jaskier shifted closer and dropped a kiss upon Geralt’s forehead. “But thank you, dear heart, you have reassured me there is nothing to be afraid of.”

Geralt smiled triumphantly and pulled Jaskier in for a hug. “Not a monster, just my heart, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, hugging back fiercely. “Just your heart, always.” He pulled back from him in a blinding grin.

Ciri glanced to the door. “You have to tell them now.”

“What?” Geralt asked, before quickly glancing around the room. Eyes lingering on the furniture, the windows. “You… brought me home?”

“Of course, where else could you go but to your family?” Jaskier took Geralt’s hands, entwining their fingers. “They were worried about you, but they know about me.”

“Who?”

“Vesemir and Lambert. Fairly sure Eskel arrived this morning, but they haven’t told him anything, otherwise he’d be in here, wouldn’t he?”

Geralt nodded, breathing at a faster pace as his eyes rested upon the door. “Why home?”

“It felt right.” Jaskier squeezed his hands. “Do you mind if I tell them now?”

Geralt shook his head, then he huffed. “How did I not notice sooner?”

“You were distracted, I suppose.”

He hummed.

Jaskier took that as his queue. He decided to broadcast his message, instead of telling them individually, which would probably get Eskel worried, but… Ah, well. _‘He’s awake_.’

No more than five minutes later did they hear Eskel coming down the hallway. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“ _Eskel_ ,” Vesemir said, immediately getting cut off.

“ _No_. You should have said!” The door came flying open, and Eskel’s shoulders dropped at the sight. “You look bright for someone who died.”

Geralt shrugged and scooted off the bed, standing. “I’ve had worse.”

“Ah, have ya, you bastard?” Eskel strode up to him and launched himself at Geralt, wrapping his arms tight around him. “Thank the gods I didn’t come sooner, huh?” He peered over his shoulder at Jaskier. “And, uh, thank the god?” He quickly looked away and squeezed Geralt. “Glad you’re okay.”

Geralt hugged back just as much. “I’m fine, Eskel. All healed.”

“Mm, you better be.” Eskel backed out of the hug, peering at Geralt’s chest. “Not even a new mark to show it.”

Jaskier smiled. “My power would never leave my heart scarred.”

Eskel tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What is your business with Geralt?”

“Eskel,” Geralt, Vesemir, and Lambert all said at once.

Ciri grinned while Jaskier was a little taken aback by it. Not by Geralt’s reaction, that was to be expected. But Vesemir and Lambert already believing in his true intentions? That was good.

“My business is to love him, with all my heart.”

“Do gods have hearts?” Eskel wondered with a laugh.

“Of course. We have all vital organs.” He smiled at the absurdity of the questions living ones sometimes asked. Eskel was being protective, Jaskier could see that, as clear as day, but he was still going to defend himself, ferociously.

Eskel gestured his confusion towards Geralt. “He’s a _god_.”

“And he’s my _heart_. Do you know what that means?” Geralt glanced to each of them, even Ciri. “Do any of you really know?”

“Like a soulmate?” Ciri asked, voice bright.

Jaskier hummed, but it trailed off to a lower pitch. “Not quite.”

Geralt nodded. “Less soul, and more what the heart holds.”

“Heartmates,” Jaskier declared with a grin. He moved off the bed, and pressed against Geralt’s side. “Just to mention, do not be worried that I am a god. I have lived alongside Geralt long enough to know what life really is.” He smiled, glancing away. “The god part of me, it’s nothing more than a job now.”

Geralt looped his arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Jask…” he murmured in a slight warning.

“No, I know, but it’s true.”

Eskel tilted his head back, nodding after. “Right, you’re a god who is… what? Like a human?”

Jaskier’s eyes darted back and forth. “I suppose. Not really, but yeah.”

Lambert clapped Eskel on the back. “Leave the poor god alone, he could smite you.”

“Smiting is more Kreve’s thing.”

Ciri folded her arms. “Can we stop talking? We should celebrate Geralt being awake.” She eyed Vesemir. “What passes for cake around here?”

Jaskier scrunched up his nose at the idea of cake, but everyone else seemed to be on board with the idea of the dessert.

Vesemir smiled gently at her. “We can make one.”

Ciri headed for the door. “Even better.”

Eskel turned as she yanked the door open and headed out, Vesemir quickly following behind. “Oh no…”

“What?” Geralt asked.

“She’s gonna have us wrapped around her finger.”

Lambert shrugged, backing up to the door. “There are worse things than a kid telling us to eat cake.”

With a sigh, Eskel said, “I suppose there is.”

Geralt grinned, turning to Jaskier as the others left. “Thank you, for bringing us here. It’s going to be a good winter.”

Jaskier smiled and pushed a hand into Geralt’s hair. “You don’t mind that I brought us here too quick?”

“Not at all.” He kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “I couldn’t be happier to have you here.”

Jaskier beamed, and Geralt clasped his hand. They headed down to the kitchen together. Coën was there too, having already started preparations for dinner. The lot of them crowded the kitchen, scrambling for ingredients (much to Coën’s sadness that the kitchen had been overrun). And soon enough, out popped a cake.

It was a good way to celebrate Geralt being awake.

Even if cake wasn’t Jaskier’s favourite.

\--

Jaskier sat back against the wall, lute in his lap. The sight before him was quite impressive, as Lambert and Eskel effortlessly brushed the layer of snow that had fallen over night to the side-lines. Ciri bounced on her feet as she watched from the weapons rack. Geralt brought them each a mug of warm milk once they were done.

“To keep your bones strong,” Geralt said, with a hint of laughter.

Lambert snorted into his milk. “That’s horseshit, and it always has been. Besides, warm milk hardly seems strengthening.”

“What, you’d rather have cold milk, on a day like this?” Eskel asked, reaching to grab Lambert’s milk. “I’ll happily take–”

“No!” Lambert exclaimed, switching his mug to his other hand to keep it from Eskel’s reach. “No, this milk is mine.”

Jaskier chuckled at the display before him, strumming a few notes from his corner of the courtyard (near to the door, in case he needed to make a quick getaway). He began playing a few tunes as Geralt picked out a training sword for Ciri, throwing it to her. She caught it, stumbling a little from the sudden weight. But she was beginning to get better.

This had been the routine for the last couple of weeks. The mornings were spent training in the courtyard, with Ciri beginning to spar with the others now, instead of a dummy. She circled through Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel. All showing her their different techniques. Vesemir would often watch just to correct them all on footing and their handling of a sword. He had sparred with Ciri yesterday, but he was in the library this morning, researching something or other.

Coën stepped outside halfway through the session, leaning back on the wall, beside Jaskier. He watched with folded arms as Ciri was being taught how to effectively parry, especially with opponents much larger than she was.

Jaskier decided to change up his slow methodically tunes, switching to a jaunt instead. Coën glanced down at him, smiling, before pushing off the wall. Well, at least he approved of the music. (He’d been careful this morning, making sure he didn’t annoy anyone too much, or distract them like he had a couple days prior.)

“How about multiple targets?” Coën suggested as he approached. Geralt stopped his attack, dropping his arm, and Ciri turned to him with her head tilted. “I know she’s early into her training, but getting used to only one opponent at a time will hinder her training later on.”

Eskel narrowed his eyes at Coën before turning to Geralt. “He has a point.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed. He caught Ciri’s eyesight. “Want to practice?”

Ciri looked between them all and nodded curtly. “Might as well. I want to fight well, and no battle is a one on one fight.”

“Ay, she’s learning,” Lambert said with a triumphant smile. “Those theory lessons with Vesemir are paying off.”

Ciri grinned. “I’m trying.”

Coën grabbed a training sword, resting it against his shoulder. “Shall we?”

Geralt waved Lambert and Eskel back. “You and me first Coën.”

“Alright. Now, Ciri…”

Jaskier blurred out their voices as he went back to composing, instead of playing upbeat melodies. Ciri needed to concentrate. He did watch though, as he kept his playing calm and as slow as possible, to minimise noise. Geralt and Coën were obviously calmly explaining how to take on multiple people at once, with Lambert and Eskel joining in for a quick demonstration. Soon enough Ciri was practicing with Coën and Geralt, as they continued to explain. At one point, maybe an hour later, Ciri managed to block and attack from Coën, ducking out of the way, to swing at Geralt.

She’d made impressive progress in the short amount of time.

Vesemir joined them for the last hour, correcting them on their techniques. A lot of the advice was guided towards Ciri, but then some was directed to others. He barely kept his eyes on them as he barked out corrections, as he’d brought a book down. Jaskier found it impressive, how he was keeping an eye on them while reading.

Jaskier was just coming to the end of playing an old forgotten song from before the Conjunction (one by the gnomes), when Ciri ambled over and sat beside him. She listened to the dying note, resting her head on her hand. Meanwhile Geralt spoke to Vesemir, Eskel, and Coën. (Lambert had already wandered off, complaining that it was too early not to have alcohol in his system). They seemed to be sharing notes about Ciri, and Jaskier smiled slightly.

They cared about giving her this training, and Ciri cared about learning. She wanted to fight, and that was good, but she always had to be fighting for the right reasons. Her practical training had to be balanced with theory, and watching them puzzle that out was fascinating.

“Can you play the song about discovering yourself in mountains?”

“Ah… Mountain of Identity?” He’d played it before, one late night when they’d been running from Nilfgaard. It had just been one song Jaskier had played out of many (and the song he’d created after the whole dragon hun thing). It was about many things, love, power, questions, almost losing someone to emotions.

It was a weighty song with a few messages woven into it.

As Jaskier smoothly transitioned into the second verse, Geralt came to sit with them as the others went back inside. It was just them, sitting out in the courtyard, in warm clothes, as the clouds collected above, with more snow to deposit. With Jaskier playing his lute, singing peacefully. His audience watching intently, smiling.

Geralt whispered the words as Ciri swayed back and forth. And as one song came to an end, another followed, as he smoothly began to sing Time Passes, a song inspired by love over years. Everlasting love mainly.

The afternoon came quick then, and they only made their escape as the snow came drifting down.

\--

Jaskier had been growing impatient with himself as the winter continued, and as the next week went on by, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. One afternoon he collected up Geralt and Ciri, and spoke with them in his and Geralt’s room. He began to explain his need to go home, after the incident, and now that his lines were too bright.

“So, I have to go to Freya. I need to understand what I am again.” He thinned his lips, looking to both Ciri and Geralt. “Time moves differently in my lands, I could be gone for an hour, or a day. But I promise it will be no longer than that.”

“Will you be safe there?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier crouched down in front of her. “I’m seeing Freya because she can’t do anything to me. My mother or Destiny could, if they wished.” He leant towards her, kissing her forehead. “I will be back, and I will be safe.”

She nodded. “Okay. I believe you.”

He ruffled her hair with a laugh and stood. “Go annoy Vesemir, or Lambert. I need to talk privately with Geralt.

She ran off with a glint in her eye. Getting permission to annoy them must have been tempting, and since Jaskier had told her to do so, she couldn’t _possibly_ get in trouble for it. On her way out, she tossed a look over her shoulder, eyes focused on Jaskier. A second later, she slipped out.

“I wanted you to see what we wear, in my lands,” Jaskier explained.

The clothes he was currently wearing melted away to reveal a long flowing robe. Akin to what noble women wore. A dress, if he dared to call it that. Certainly close enough to one. It had a loose neckline, or rather no neckline at all. It hung part way down his chest, to show off his rune (and maybe his chest hair).

He had let his lines show at the same time, and they complemented the white dress well. It also had a short of loose train that ran down alongside his arms. The dress itself flowed down to his feet, looking quite graceful, if he did say so himself.

He glanced down at himself, smiling. It had been a long time since he’d worn anything like this. As he raised his head upwards, Geralt gasped.

“Your eyes…” Geralt whispered, stepping forehead. “They’re glowing.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m in my true god form…” He gently touched the corner of one eye. “This form is only meant to be shown at home…” Thinning his lips, he dropped his hand. “And since I haven’t been home… it’s been a while. I’d forgotten.”

Geralt gently caressed his cheek. “I like them.” His eyes roved over him. “This is what you look like when you’re home?”

“Yes. This is how I would look, what I would wear.”

“It suits you.”

“Mmm, I’d hope so. This garment alone took years of work to make.” He covered Geralt’s hand with his own. “I do have to go…”

Geralt pulled Jaskier in for a kiss. Sweet yet firm. “Don’t get caught by Melitele.”

Jaskier had told him of the possible consequence. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but there was a chance. His mother could be… displeased by the other gods sometimes. Including him. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s cheek, nodded to him, and blinked away.

The land was too bright, to begin with. It always was, after being on the Continent for too long.

He’d come to Freya’s location directly, and it was the place he’d been expecting. The marble gardens. The paths, pillars, everything was made from a white marble. Flowers bloomed proudly in their beds, their colours bright. It was one of Jaskier’s favourite places in these lands, but it still didn’t match up to anything on the Continent.

Freya herself was busying herself with the flowers, picking stems and placing them into the basket looped on her arms. She was wearing a lovely flowing dress today, bright blue with hints of red. There was even a small pregnancy bump, like how the humans portrayed her. Interesting that she’d add that to herself…

After a couple seconds, her eyes drifted towards him, her face lighting up.

“Jaskier!” Freya placed the basket that was upon her arm down and rushed over to him. Once near, she gave him a good glance over and frowned. “Your lines are far brighter. Your heart, it’s a different colour.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

She dropped her stance, breathed in, and squared her shoulders. “Come to ask questions?”

He nodded, she smiled.

“Follow.”

She led him through the marbled garden, to where two perfectly polished marble slabs sat with a table between them. He sat opposite to Freya, his posture stiff.

“What do you know about me?” he asked. It was easier to get it out there straight away.

“Oh, plenty.”

He stared right at her soul. “Am I a god of power?”

Her eyes went wide, soul pulsing. “Your lines tipped you off…”

“They did.”

“They lied to you.”

Jaskier hung his head, he’d known, but the truth still hurt. “Really?”

“Yes. When Melitele made you, from the golden rivers, she meant you to be three things. What you think you are.” Freya crossed one leg over her other, head tossed to one side. “The golden rivers tacked power onto you. The rivers have a great force within them, uncontrollable. The last god to be birthed from them, before you, was Kreve.”

“And Kreve represents power.”

“Indeed.” Freya bit at her bottom lip. “You see, no god was supposed to be born from the golden rivers anymore. It’s too…” She shook her head, sighing. “But Melitele had to, it was the only way to make you the fate of hearts.”

That was… he’d always been proud that he’d come from the rivers. “What was their reason for keeping quiet?”

“They were afraid of how your power would work. After all, what power would a god of _love_ , a god of music… a god of fated hearts inhabit? They didn’t want to tell you, nor wanted anyone to know because of that.”

“And yet they knew I would use it eventually. Why wait to let me lose control?”

“Because power can corrupt. You were only meant to be happy, bright with love, not dark. Power can make gods see themselves as above the rest of us. They didn’t want that for you.”

“Still, they made it more dangerous not telling me. They didn’t know my power would heal. For fucks sake, it was _my_ power that caused the shockwave when my heart died, right?”

Her expression fell, eyes grim, like she was done defending the actions of her sister and her sister’s child. “Right.”

Jaskier clenched his jaw, biting back a thousand words he wanted to shout towards Melitele. Instead, he extended his arm towards her. “How can I make my lines go back to normal?”

“Breathe in, breathe out, and let the power recede from you.”

He did as she said, and his lines calmed. At least this way, Ciri would be able to look at them without being blinded. “Thank you.”

Freya stood and moved to sit beside him. She took his hands into hers, staring kindly into his eyes. “Do not let the power scare you. It’s been part of you since the start.”

“Every time my lines grew brighter?”

She nodded.

He thinned his lips, his mind drifting back to Kaer Morhen. “Can I protect my family with it?”

Freya flinched. “Are we…”

“Auntie–”

She lifted one hand to his hair and brushed her fingers through it. “No, I’m sorry. They are your family. You are not ours now, you’re a god who lives amongst the souls of the Continent. I must respect that.”

Jaskier nodded, a tinge of guilt pulling at him. “Still, you, all of you, are still my family. It’s just… you will be here forever. None of you are mortal.”

“Oh, my poor dear.” She cupped his cheek. “What about your heart, you can keep him alive and with you?”

He smiled sadly. “Only if he wants that, and if he doesn’t, I have to accept that too.”

She hummed and pulled back from him. “Well then, are your questions answered?”

“They are for now.” He stood, eyes flicking over the gardens. “I can trust you not to say anything?”

Freya smiled, nodding. “Of course. You were wronged. I wouldn’t betray you, not with this.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

“It is of no bother. Now go home, child. Go to your heart.”

Jaskier smiled at her one last time before blinking away.

On his way back, he’d noticed that night had fallen, on the same day he’d left on. So it had only been a handful of hours. Quite a big handful indeed, as he appeared in his and Geralt’s room once again, noticing that Geralt was sleeping soundly under the covers. Jaskier waved away his godly outfit, replacing it with soft warming bedclothes.

He slipped into bed, and within a second, Geralt had his arms wrapped around him.

“Awake?” Jaskier whispered.

“Hmm,” came Geralt’s reply. “How did it go?”

“Well… I, uh, I’m power.”

Geralt shifted away as Jaskier turned towards him. He blinked awake and frowned, tucking a few strands of Jaskier’s hair behind his ear. There was a loving gaze shared between them for a good few moments, a second of comfort as Geralt grasped Jaskier’s hand.

“How are you?”

Jaskier looked towards the ceiling with a sigh. “I’m… finding it difficult. I’m power, and that changes a lot for me, of what I think myself to be. But it’s also always been me? It’s… I don’t know how to explain that.”

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hand, frowning slightly. “I can’t pretend to understand what this means, but I’ll… try to comfort you, however I can.”

“Thank you, dear heart.” He thinned his lips, mulling over everything he knew about himself, about his fellows. “I suppose… you could think of it as someone discovering one of their parents isn’t their real parent.”

“Hmm, must be scarier, to know you are a power you didn’t know of.”

“Yeah, but at least it protected you, and Ciri.”

Geralt smiled sadly. “But at what cost to yourself?”

Jaskier gazed into Geralt’s eyes for a long moment, studying his soul, feeling his love. There was not a place in the world he would rather be than at his side, which was, in turn, the answer. “Whatever the cost. If I’m power… you’re protected. For as long as you want to be.”

Geralt shifted closer, cupping the back of Jaskier’s head, bringing their foreheads together. “And that would be forever, Jaskier. I’m never leaving you.”

“Good.” Jaskier closed his eyes, hand cupping Geralt’s cheek. “That’s good.”

Good because the world would not have to burn.

Good because he would never have to lose his heart.

Good for many reasons.

They fell asleep, curled around each other, heads pressed together in the greatest display of comfort Jaskier could ever wish for. His heart, believing in him, even when he himself did not know what this meant for the future.


	8. Living

Ciri grabbed his wrist, skin pale with fright. “Jaskier… don’t leave tonight.”

Jaskier frowned, swinging his leg up on to the bed as he stilled the strings of his lute. “Do the nightmares scare you that much?”

“Yes.” Her eyes shifted to where Geralt was still cleaning up bits of glass. “How did I do that?”

“What? Shake your room and make your glass of water throw itself against a wall, shattering?” He tilted his head. “How did your scream toss the soldiers away from Geralt?”

She nodded.

Jaskier thinned his lips, turning to her. “You’re a Source. You’re powerful.”

Ciri’s hands trembled more so. “What does that mean?”

“You have a natural affinity for magic, but, as you can see, it’s hard to control.” He gestured to the glass. “The stress from your nightmare caused you to wield your power. In its current uncontrollable state, it’s dangerous. In certain situations, a Source can destroy a town.”

“So I could… do something like you did?”

“Yeah, you could.”

Ciri looked away, as pale as the moon on a bright night. She was true Chaos, in all that came in. She needed something, someone. A sorcerer. Jaskier strummed a note as the idea popped into his head. He could see now… Yennefer and Istredd, this was how they fitted in to the story. They could help Ciri, they could train her.

This was the third nightmare she’d had this week, but only the second time she’d had an outburst with her power. She hadn’t asked about the first time, maybe assuming she hadn’t done it, and Jaskier had. But now it was clear. It was bound to happen eventually, especially after a month in the keep, after learning so much about Nilfgaard, after seeing Geralt die, be brought back, and be unconscious for three days. After knowing of the deaths of everyone she knew…

“Remember when we told you of Yennefer?” Jaskier asked, settling his hand on Ciri’s. She stilled and looked up, wide eyes staring into his own.

“Yes… Could she help me?”

“She could. Do you want me to call for her?”

Ciri nodded shakily. “Please.”

They’d discussed it with Vesemir, just last week. The possibility of getting Yennefer involved. They had all agreed to wait for the right moment to ask Ciri, and this was as good as any. Better even, because of what had occurred. And now, with her consent, Jaskier could reach out and ask her to come. It would not only be beneficial for Ciri, but would act as a way to bring the family all together, for the first time.

Jaskier placed his lute down, leaning it upon the bed. “I’ll go now. Geralt, stop with the glass and come sit with Ciri.”

Geralt stopped, and glared at Jaskier. “She could hurt herself with it.”

“Just come sit, we can worry about the glass later.”

He stood as Geralt sat on the bed. Ciri scooted to his side, and he wrapped an arm around her as she settled her head against him. It was sweet, and a true display of how close they had grown over the last month.

Jaskier smiled at them. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He whisked through the halls, at more of a run than a jog. Bursting out into the courtyard, he slowed, walking to the middle, tipping his head to the sky, closing his eyes. He searched, reaching out into the distance. She wasn’t hard to find, not with her strong tie with Istredd. Their signature made it easy.

‘ _Yennefer, are you willing to come to Kaer Morhen? Ciri, Geralt’s Child Surprise needs you. We need you. She’s a Source, she needs training, and I trust you. I trust you to protect her, to mentor her, to be there, and to be important.’_

There was no response. The slight breeze in the air ruffled his hair. This… was a waiting game, but he was not leaving the courtyard until he made contact. So, he waited. And once five minutes had passed, the reply came.

‘ _Is this what you meant by the future holds family for us all? That I am family to Ciri eventually_?’

‘ _Yes. You and Istredd become family. Come, and you shall see_.’

‘ _On my way_.’

Jaskier let his signature be felt by Yennefer, and a second later, a portal opened before him. Out stepped Yennefer, with Istredd right beside her. They both looked well, if not tired. The war had come for them, and it had drained them. But they were still alive, and not amongst the many sorcerers dead. Luckily, they were too bound by destiny to die yet. There were many years for them ahead.

“Yennefer. Istredd. I’m glad you came.”

Istredd tilted his head. “The girl, what has she done so far?”

Jaskier squared his shoulders. Business already… “She shoved soldiers away with a scream, and caused her room to shake with wind, throwing a glass with her mind.”

Yennefer breathed deeply. “Then she needs to be trained, quickly. Before another outburst.”

Jaskier nodded. “I’ll take you to her.”

He led them back to Ciri’s room, where Geralt was still holding her close. She was sniffling now, head buried in his chest. Jaskier frowned, heart lurching to protect Ciri from all. He went to them, sitting on the bed, stroking a hand through her hair. She was so young, so much younger than everyone else in the room. Jaskier could never truly understand her pain, no matter how hard he tried. But he imagined Yennefer could understand, that all the witchers could.

“Ciri, Yennefer is here,” he whispered to her.

Ciri shifted, eyes peeking out to look. She stared at Yennefer for a long moment. “You can help me?”

“I can, and hopefully soon.” Yennefer turned to the glass behind her. “You need to know how to control it, before you do something much worse.”

Istredd caught Yennefer’s eyesight. “First she needs to understand all that a Source is.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Ciri peeled away from Geralt, moving to sit in the middle of the bed. “When can we start?”

Yennefer smiled, and Jaskier had a feeling that she recognised the fire in Ciri’s eyes. “It’s late now, and you’ll need rest. Does tomorrow suffice?”

“It does.”

“Then we will begin after breakfast.”

Ciri smiled. “Good.”

Istredd turned to Jaskier. “Where will we be staying for the night?”

Jaskier hummed, and he stood from the bed. “I’ll take you to Vesemir, he’s still awake in the library.”

Ciri made a wounded noise.

He turned to her, expression soft. “I’m keeping my promise, I’ll be back.”

“Okay…”

With that, the three of them left. Jaskier guided them to the library, finding Vesemir curled up with a book by the fire. As he tended to be most nights. And it was spectacularly late now. Everyone else was in bed, or had gone back to sleep after being awoken by Ciri.

“Vesemir,” Jaskier said upon arrival, “we have guests.”

Vesemir raised his head from his book, eyes settling on Yennefer and Istredd. “Are these the sorcerers?”

“Indeed. Ciri needs help.”

“Yes, the poor girl does.” Vesemir stood and regarded them with a raised eyebrow. “You can train her?”

“Let’s hope so,” Yennefer said, eyes full of that fire she held. “Otherwise she risks losing control at the wrong time.”

“Hm. I’ll show you both to a room.” He turned to Jaskier, eyes full of sympathy. “You should be with Ciri.”

Jaskier nodded and blinked away, not wanting to waste a second. Ciri needed endless support from him and Geralt, and they were happy to give. As he appeared in her room, he noticed that she was tucked into bed, with Geralt sitting beside her on the bed, a book open. He was reading softly, and Ciri was gazing up at him so calmly. Like she was at peace.

Jaskier joined them on the bed, much to Ciri’s delight. She sat up a little, grinning, resting back down after. Geralt regarded him with a smile and kept reading.

It was a peaceful night from then on, as Ciri drifted off to sleep. Geralt and Jaskier stayed, watching over her, keeping a promise. She was… She meant a lot now, to Jaskier. Like he and Geralt had adopted her, and she was their child. He never thought being a father would be so rough yet so rewarding.

And now he knew.

\--

The training was going well. With Ciri learning control, learning magic, understanding Chaos. With the sword fighting, and just fighting in general. With Yennefer and Vesemir teaming up to incorporate Ciri’s abilities into her fighting. With everyone getting involved with the training.

Even Jaskier played his part. He set up some dummies in the courtyard, and screamed at them with all his raw power. They went flying, naturally, and a couple broke in half. He talked Ciri through it, and she managed to successfully make the dummies fly. With enough control on the power, they were both able to aim their shockwave, ensuring that maybe only one dummy cut through the air instead of them all.

Coën ensured Ciri knew how to fight against everyone at once. She used her magic, and her newfound skills to have a good go of it. Jaskier didn’t join in for that training (he was too powerful to be let loose like that), and Istredd stayed out of the action too, electing to read instead. But he was watching too, just as intently as Jaskier.

It was impressive, how quick she learnt. She certainly had enough mentors to gain advice from, to learn the skills of five different witchers, two different sorcerers, and a god. It would put her far ahead of the game. Nilfgaard would never know what’s coming. Never guess what Ciri would be able to do to them, once let loose.

That day would come, when they’ll know not to mess with her. Ever again.

While Ciri was training with Yennefer and Geralt, Jaskier made his way to the library. Over the past couple of days, few had seen Istredd wandering about. The same could be said for Vesemir. Albeit, Jaskier was more than a little curious. The others were busy with Ciri’s training, while his days were filled with music. Both in playing in his lute, and taking quick trips to complete his work when the right moments popped up.

So, the library seemed like a suiting adventure.

As he walked through the door, he noted that Vesemir had fallen asleep by the window. Istredd was sitting in the middle of the room, books surrounding him. A notepad sat in his lap, and the lad looked half exhausted and half obsessed. He was progressing then, and perhaps with the books of Kaer Morhen, along with his other research, he was finally getting there.

Jaskier cupped his hands behind his back and stepped towards him. “Have you gotten somewhere since we last met?”

Istredd snapped his head up, eyes smiling as they settled on Jaskier. “I’ve found old and torn books, handwritten, from before Conjunction.” He gestured to the bookcases. “Here, I’ve found notes from gnomes, hidden in ancient human books. There are forgotten words to be found, and none of yours were lies. I’ve spoken to dwarves, and once they believed my intentions, they showed me their libraries.”

Istredd had this slightly furrow in his brow, like the memory was pleasing yet confusing. As if he hadn’t thought beforehand that there were unknown libraries in the world. Jaskier was proud of him. Those that pursued history often only cared for the events after the Conjunction. Some were more concerned with the events that were documented heavily. But Istredd, and others like him, were curious about the greater unknown.

Before.

To know he had helped in the quest for knowledge was a joy.

“And what did you find, did the truth of history please you?”

Istredd lit up, his smile blinding. “Of course it did. It completes a puzzle in my mind, allows me to realise the true hurt those not native to this world have caused. It’s understanding.”

“The point of history is to understand, so that we may learn from the past?” Jaskier pondered. He didn’t know if he was on the right lines there, but from Istredd’s smile widening, he guessed he’d spoken truth.

“Exactly.” He gestured to his notebook. “If I can get my findings out there, perhaps humans will learn of their ignorance. Maybe then we can move on and start anew. With old lessons learnt, instead of repeating our mistakes _over and over_. There is no reason to hurt the Elder Races, or any race.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Individuals should be held to account, not an entire race, or an entire people.” He traced his lips with his thumb. “However, humans and their actions have caused much hurt, and their privilege in this world should never be forgotten. Humans still have power over the other peoples, but in time, that can change. Everyone can be equal, but not without remembering the brutal history?”

“Yes. Your pondering is correct, Jaskier. You’re wiser than I thought.”

“Hm, well, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the actions of humans. I once deemed them evil, but I think they’re the same as any knowledgeable species. They fear the unknown, and what they don’t understand, they purge, claiming they are protecting themselves when all they do is slaughter.”

Istredd placed his notebook down and stood, stepping over the books. “You understand a lot about the species on the Continent…” He tilted his head. “Before the Conjunction, were there conflicts as brutal as the Nilfgaardian Empire’s expansion?”

“That I know of? Only a few, but nothing to this scale. That I’ve seen? None.”

“Why does history repeat?”

“Because it is forgotten, or because people grow complacent, thinking that long over history can never affect them, when it can.” Jaskier placed a hand at Istredd’s shoulder, staring into his soul. He was still pure in his intentions for knowledge. That was all he wanted. “But I believe that is a question you already know the answer of. What you’re really asking is if books and notes and knowledge can stop history repeating, right?”

Istredd nodded.

“Again, that is a question for you to answer. I am a mere god, I have not walked upon the Continent as I have with Geralt for long. History to me is… distant. But _you_ hold knowledge, and have the ability to share it. If you do, and if it grows popular with the masses… then we’ll find out.”

“Thank you, Jaskier. That is reassuring, and helps me believe I’m doing the right thing.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Vesemir poked his head around his chair. “What have I missed?”

Istredd chuckled, approaching him. “Nothing, my friend. Jaskier and I were pondering about history.”

“Ah, I see. An intriguing conversation?”

“Absolutely.”

Jaskier smiled. “History and thought provoking conversations aside, Coën and Eskel have offered to teach Ciri and I to cook. Want to join?”

Vesemir smoothly stood, arms folded. “I should, Coën and Eskel do not have the meal expertise that I have.”

With a laugh on his lips, Jaskier turned, gesturing for them to follow. “Then come on, I would love to see a master at work.”

“And you will,” Vesemir called, catching up to him.

Jaskier noticed Istredd grab his notebook, and quickly followed them out. They headed down to the kitchen where everyone had already gathered. With Coën and Eskel at a bench, laying out ingredients. Lambert was sitting on said bench, eyeing the ingredients like he disagreed. Geralt was at Ciri’s side, watching this unfold on the opposite side. And Yennefer was by the fire, stoking it. (She couldn’t have looked more bored if she tried).

“I’ve wrangled the stragglers,” Jaskier announced.

Eskel immediately looked overjoyed. “Vesemir, come help. We’re making a pie. Ciri should learn how to make pastry.”

Vesemir moved quicker than Jaskier had ever seen, already examining the available ingredients. “This is all we need.” His eyesight landed on Ciri. “Now, pastry can be complicated if done wrong. One important lesson to learn is, be patient. The pastry will work in your favour.”

Istredd leant against a wall, a smile pulling at his lips. “This is going to be interesting.”

“You mean it’s going to be pandemonium,” Jaskier said, watching as Geralt pulled away to sit upon another bench. Lambert joined him as he was shooed away by Coën.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

Jaskier grinned, agreeing completely as he moved to stand beside Ciri. “Excited?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him. “I can’t wait to get started. Pastry never sounded fun until now.”

As Eskel grabbed a bowl, Jaskier could only imagine this would end in success. What could go wrong with three good cooks, four bystanders, and two students?

Everything, apparently, for pandemonium followed.

\--

“Ready to go again?” Jaskier asked as he straddled Geralt’s hips. He dropped his eyes to his cock, the sight never growing old. It had only be a minute since their release, but that would not stop them, not when there was love to be made.

Geralt smoothed his hands up Jaskier’s sides. “You’re insatiable.”

Jaskier grinded down, just to make his point. A groan was pulled from Geralt’s lips. “So are you, dear heart.”

With a smirk on his lips, Geralt flipped them, pressing Jaskier into the mattress. They got all tangled together, as one. Geralt nuzzled Jaskier’s neck, kissing his way up to his ear. “And what do you need this time, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me, but slowly.” Jaskier pushed his hand into Geralt’s hair. “As slow as you can go. Make it soft, sweet, then when we’re close, one powerful thrust should be enough, don’t you think?”

Geralt caught Jaskier’s lips, nibbling at his bottom lip. A clear sign of a yes. Jaskier curled his arms around Geralt’s back, shifting against him so that their cocks rubbed together, the friction delicious as Geralt licked into his mouth, tongue curling around his own. A moan slipped from Jaskier’s throat, and he scraped his nails up to Geralt’s neck, delighting in the shiver that ran through him, and he rolled his hips, adding to the effect.

The groan that came from Geralt was oh so delightful.

This never got old, never boring, for each time brought small differences that made Jaskier crave more, just… _more_. He tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair once again, pulling slightly as he licked at his lips. More luscious sounds greeted his ears, and Geralt returned the action by circling his entrance with wet fingers. _Mm_ , he was getting better at stealthily slicking up. And how perfect too, as one finger pushed in.

It wasn’t as if Jaskier hadn’t already been prepped, this wasn’t the first fuck of the night, nor the second. It wasn’t so much the prep as the foreplay, as Geralt claimed. According to him, one should writhe and beg before being rewarded. Jaskier claimed it was horseshit every time, but he was _intimately_ aware that it wasn’t. It always did get him riled up in the right way.

Jaskier broke their kiss as Geralt pushed a second finger in, twisting. “Slow, gods, go slow…”

Geralt slowed, dragging his fingers back and forth perfectly. The sensations of tenderness brought on a different feeling in Jaskier. While fast and hard was fun, it never truly made him go as wild as this could. As slowness could. He was love, and making love, the softness of what that meant, drove him crazy. In a way a delicious rough fucking couldn’t.

He threw his head back, moaning as Geralt dragged his fingertips against his prostate, oh so slow, pulling out again, a third finger pushing in on the way back. Geralt kissed along Jaskier’s jaw at the same time, leaving a small bite here and there, before he buried his nose in the curve of his neck. Jaskier tilted his head, to allow Geralt better access, and his eyes fluttered shut as Geralt breathed him in.

Teeth grazed his skin, and the smallest bite was left. As tantalising as Geralt’s fingers. Jaskier sighed out with the pleasure, rocking against Geralt’s fingers, digging his nails into Geralt’s back, scraping, and he tugged at his hair, to which Geralt groaned, finding Jaskier’s lips once more.

Jaskier fucked himself on Geralt’s fingers, needing more, needing his cock most of all. Letting the moment stretch for just a second longer, allowing Geralt that foreplay, allowing him to finish lavishing his lips with nibbles and wipes of his tongue. He deserved it, especially since Jaskier had rushed the first time tonight.

Geralt left Jaskier’s lips with a smile. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jaskier breathed.

In what felt like a second but was more like a minute, Geralt slicked up his cock lavishly, pulling his fingers out, and pushing in gently. Jaskier closed his eyes at the welcoming feeling, breathing lighter now, like this was contentment. He pulled Geralt close, closer, by his neck and back. They were one.

The slowness of each thrust, of each brush, of each movement back and forth, was so tantalisingly maddening. It brought Jaskier right to the very edge of his mind, letting the rest go blank. Even the feelings only he as a god felt faded away. Sure, it had happened before, after kissing for what felt like hours, or from just being curled up in Geralt’s arms, but to have it happen like this, when all he could feel was Geralt inside him…

He was afloat with joy, ecstasy.

Tears pricked at his eyes, happy ones, from the rush of having heartbreak and death leave him for a good long moment. Geralt noticed of course, kissing away the tears, finding his lips, continuing his slow thrusts. He was a compassionate lover, knowing the deepest needs of his heart, and to Jaskier that was all he required from life. Geralt knowing him.

“Did it happen again?” Geralt whispered against his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s gone. No need for my block.” A bubble of laughter erupted from Jaskier, soft and elegant. He let his tears fall, smiling. “Keep going, dear heart. Show me what making love means.”

Geralt kissed his cheek and shifted a little, gaining a better position and advantage, letting him successfully brush against Jaskier’s prostate with each thrust. It had Jaskier moaning at varying pitches, his mind seeing nothing but Geralt, feeling nothing but him. Geralt groaned into his neck as he pulled all the way back, sinking back in agonisingly slow.

Jaskier threw his head back at the next few – though he wasn’t sure how many it really was – thrusts, as Geralt went slower than ever, making it all the more satisfying to him. Truly, this was what making love was about, the sweetness of closeness.

Then, Geralt was whispering, “Are you close, sweetheart? I am.”

Jaskier curled his fingers, grasping at the strands of Geralt’s hair. “Yes, my dear.” He turned his head, catching his eyesight. He gazed openly, at how undone Geralt looked. “Dear heart, let loose.”

Geralt pulled back, and thrust in with all his power, hard, fast, _powerful_. Jaskier tightened his grasp on Geralt’s hair, head thrown back, moan on his lips, and he was coming. His mind wiped itself out for a few seconds, as he came harder than he ever had before. Geralt’s hips jerked and he collapsed on top of Jaskier, panting hard. Jaskier closed his eyes, resting back fully, slowly cataloguing all the memories of that round (he would not be forgetting any detail of _that_ any time soon).

Geralt’s panting calmed, and he rolled off Jaskier, turning on his side, leaning up on his elbow. “You need to make me immortal.”

Jaskier rolled his head along the pillow, his eyes widening slowly. “Say it again?”

“Make me immortal.”

There was nothing but _knowing_ in that. He… He wanted it. Wanted to be with him forever, even after Jaskier informing him of all the hurt that would follow. That everyone he knew would eventually come to their end. While he would last, alongside Jaskier… forever, or for as long as he could endure that life.

And still…

“You’re sure…?” Jaskier asked, because the confirmation was needed, before he did anything at all.

“Entirely.” Geralt’s gaze was piercing, like he knew what worry Jaskier was harbouring. He knew what he wanted, without a single slice of doubt.

Jaskier shuffled off the bed, making his way over to the wash bowl. He cleaned himself up with a cloth, and then threw it over to Geralt, so he could clean any mess on him. As he did so, Jaskier waved a hand and manifested his godly garment. This time, a blue garb that was in the style of his white one.

“Dress in your best clothes, dear heart,” he said, his voice booming. He was easily slipping into his godly ways, the power curling around him.

Geralt slipped off the bed, and was soon dressed in his newly mended leather trousers and the black doublet Jaskier had bought for him months back. It was a ritual of sorts, this. It had to be formal. Not that it was a requirement, but it was respectful to the power he was about to harness.

Jaskier stood before him, hands cupped behind his back. “Are you ready?”

Geralt nodded curtly, surer than the gods had ever been of anything. He could feel that. “Yes.”

“Relay these words… ‘I, Geralt of Rivia, pledge my soul to my heart, Julian of Music, Love, and Fated Hearts’.”

Geralt breathed in, a smile gracing his lips. “I, Geralt of Rivia, pledge my soul to my heart, Julian of Music, Love, and Fated Hearts.”

A light burst into the space between them. Bright red. It stretched towards Jaskier and Geralt, looking like a string. It passed through their skin, and wrapped around their hearts. Jaskier smiled at the light, brushing his fingers along the string. He stepped towards the ball of light, and smoothed his hand down it. The light brightened and dissipated from the air with a twinkling sound.

Jaskier came to a stop in front of Geralt. Reaching up, he pressed his fingertips to Geralt’s temples. “This won’t hurt, dear heart, but it will feel like your cells are growing.” He closed his eyes and dived into Geralt’s mind, overriding his genome, and spreading the message to the rest of his DNA. No longer would Geralt’s telomeres shorten, effectively freezing him at the age he was currently. He ensured other biological processes could no longer continue to age him, and in some cases, he turned genes off.

He backed away, his hands dropping from Geralt. Opening his eyes, he realised that Geralt’s were glowing. His usual amber bright with light, not unlike the eyes of gods at home. The glow faded for a few seconds, and Geralt stared down at his hands, wiggling his fingers, clenching and unclenching.

“I’m different,” he whispered. “I’m… Is it done?”

“It’s done.” Jaskier grasped at his hands, smiling at him. “You are different, sort of. Parts of your DNA has changed, but nothing with _you_ has changed. I only made adjustments to some biological process. And we’re bound by the power of gods now, death cannot touch you.”

Geralt settled, breathing calmly now. “I’m glad, because I am not leaving you, Jask. Never.”

“That’s a lot of devotion, dear heart. I would never ask you to be with me forever. It never ends, time, never.”

“You underestimate how much you mean to me.”

Jaskier almost gasped at that. What those words meant… He was his heart, they were meant to love for as long as time would allow, but Geralt saying that he cared to this degree. He believed him… Geralt would not leave willingly. “Then, we have much to celebrate.”

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s jaw and kissed him deeply, so deep that it was as if he was trying to pull his soul from him purely from kissing. Jaskier curled his arms around him, pulling his hips flush with his own. Geralt left nothing untouched, not his lips, nor mouth, he moved his hands just to kiss either cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He pulled back just an inch with a firm smile.

“Much to celebrate indeed.” He smoothed his hand down Jaskier’s garment. “The night is young…”

Jaskier smirked, kissing the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “It is.”

“Will you keep your dress on?” Geralt traced the neckline. “I like it.”

“As you wish, my dearest heart.” He pulled at Geralt’s hands pulling him towards the bed. “What will it be this time?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Oh, do you?”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier, tackling him onto the bed. They rolled and ended up tangled together, with Geralt on top, grinning down at Jaskier. “I do.”

Jaskier beamed up at him, brushing stray strands out of his face. “Then show me, my dear.”

Geralt dove down and nuzzled Jaskier’s neck, breathing in. “I intend to.”

\--

The weeks that came after Geralt becoming immortal were… good. The day after the mortality change, Yennefer took one look at Geralt, smiled, and told him she was happy for him. Istredd even clapped him on the shoulder and wished him luck for all the future. Ciri was sceptical of the whole thing, but was glad enough that Jaskier would never lose Geralt, as she claimed it would destroy the world too soon. He hadn’t told his brothers yet, but that would come, soon.

But yes, the weeks were going well. Ciri’s training was better than ever, and her nightmares had calmed. Everyone grew closer with daily cooking sessions and general bonding with training and late night Gwent games.

Currently, Jaskier was walking along the battlements, taking in the views of the snowed in valley. Ciri was having her daily session, with everyone involved this time. All except for Istredd, who was still in the library. And Jaskier, who wanted to see the sights.

He pushed through a door to a tower that blocked his path, made his way through, ended up back outside… and… he turned straight back around as he noticed Destiny sitting upon the wall as if she were innocent and not the cause of all his problems.

“Brother, please,” Destiny called out, sounding like she’d jumped off the wall.

Jaskier sighed, hanging his head. “Why should I listen to a word you say?”

“Because I’m sorry. Because we should have told you of the power you represent. Because the golden rivers are part of you, and the very lines you hold dear. Because you deserve to know yourself. I’m truly sorry.”

He turned slowly, eyes dark. “You could have done a lot of things, dearest sibling. You can apologise all day long,” He gritted his teeth, his lines grew brighter, “but it won’t change the fact that you _let me_ watch him _die_!”

Destiny flinched, her lips trembling. “Please… Please don’t become the power you were never meant to be.”

“Do you know what it’s like to be heartbroken? To scream in agony because you lost the one you love? To yell at the world, hoping to the _gods_ they’ll give your heart a second chance?!” Destiny turned her head away, eyes evasive. “No, I didn’t think so.”

“Jaskier, don’t be like a child.”

“I am _not_ a child!” he roared, his lines bursting with light, making him glow like a star in the sky. “I have lived a long fucking shitty life. Binging people together, just to eventually feel their deaths. To feel each tie snap like a twig. No one knows what that feels like but me! It’s agony, all the time! The Slaughter of Cintra? The Great Cleansing? The Conjunction? Every major event where the masses died, every battle, every deadly pandemic… is enough to break me down. And they did. My soul has been torn out, drained, stomped on for _centuries_ and you dare to call me a fucking child?” He scoffed. “I have seen and felt the worst. I’ve had my own heart break me, had my heart die on me! And yet all you gods think me some naïve ill-informed child!” He threw his arms up, rounding on Destiny, pointing at her, snarling. “Do not pretend that it is the amount of years one has lived that dictates their age. From my experience alone, I am older than any god.”

Destiny sucked in a breath. “Oh… brother… What did we do to you?”

“You made me lose him, and it just about turned me into the most dangerous god there is.”

“Because love destroys…”

“Because love can make souls burn entire kingdoms for their loved one. Because I would scream the Continent to dust if he ever truly died. That’s who I am, a god of love with everything to lose.”

“And once lost…” She nodded.

“Exactly, Destiny. Now you’re understanding.”

Destiny tipped her head to the sky. “Sweet fellows, a god in love… Fuck, how did this happen?”

Jaskier shrugged. “You created this path before I was born. Tell me, dear sibling, why bind me to Geralt of Rivia?”

“I didn’t. Neither did Melitele.”

He furrowed his brow. But… if they… “Did I– Did I bind myself with one unborn while I was being made?”

Destiny covered her mouth. “Perhaps dear brother.”

“Then… it was my heart that chose him.” He placed a hand at his hip. “Do you understand now?”

Destiny nodded to him, slowly, closing her eyes as she did so. “I understand. You can’t lose him because you’re the one that intertwined your destiny’s. Losing him would take away part of you, not just because he is your heart, but because it was a choice made during your creation. All would suffer if he died, just like a warrior losing their heart to bandits, or an army.”

Jaskier smiled, the perfect analogy.

“That warrior would cleave through the people at fault,” Destiny continued. “It would be revenge for killing their heart. But for you, living ones are the world, and so if a group of souls murdered him, rather than a creature killing him, you would blame the Continent. And this world would no longer have living souls upon it…”

“Yes. Yes, precisely.” He lit up with a grin. “Finally, my sweet sibling, we are on the same page again.”

She smiled right back at him. “Finally…”

Jaskier waved dismissively. “You are forgiven, because you understand. Besides, I don’t want to lose my sibling.”

“And I don’t want to lose you.”

She spread her arms out, asking, and Jaskier stepped into her arms. They hugged tight. It felt like it had been eons since they’d shared this. True sibling love. The months that he had been angry at her melted away, because he loved Destiny, dearly. And while she deserved some of his words, she didn’t deserve all, so he was happy to forgive now it was all out in the open.

He stepped back after the long moment passed on by. “Now, Destiny, what news is there of the world? I’ve been pretty… busy, shall we say?”

Destiny smirked, eyes smug. “Busy is one word, sure. But yes, brother, there is much to discuss.” She placed a hand at his shoulder and guided him to a wall. “First I shall update you on the war…”

The conversation went on for hours, but he was glad for it, as Destiny swore never to keep paths from him again. For he was a force of it, just like she was, and he deserved to see what she saw, and vice versa. For the first time in a long time, the two of them collaborated on the future.

\--

Spring was with them. It wouldn’t be long now, till everyone would ride off and leave. Save for Jaskier, Geralt, Vesemir, and Ciri. Yennefer and Istredd had some sorcerer work to attend to, but they had vowed that there would be regular visits (well, Yennefer had vowed). Still, the winter was at an end and this whole… thing was being prolonged by the bonds that had been formed over the months.

They were family now. Brothers, parents, a child. Partners to last an age, and more.

Jaskier smiled, yeah, he’d been right. Family had been achieved now. It mattered to them, this. For fuck’s sake, they were such a family, that Eskel had deliberately stopped Jaskier from going to bed on several occasions just to teach him how to cook. Coën would join in too, on their late night cooking and baking. (Jaskier may or may not have tied Coën and Eskel, they matched really well).

Family in the way of Vesemir and Istredd bonding like an Uncle teaching a nephew how to fall asleep without anyone knowing in a library. Family in that Yennefer and Ciri were extremely close, and sometimes (even though they kept it a secret), Yennefer would read Ciri stories before bed. Family… in the way of how they had embraced one another. The wolves of the house were already brothers, and Vesemir their father, but now they had so many other additions.

A big extended found family. Perfect for each and every one of them.

Currently, he was watching from the side-lines. He’d taken a brief break from Kaer Morhen in the morning, dealing with matches across the Continent, but he’d returned at midday to find everyone in the courtyard, and what a joyful sight it was.

On this warm spring day, Ciri was sitting beside Yennefer, and they appeared to be practising humble magic, a book open in front of them. Istredd was sitting on a chair that had been dragged outside, taking notes down, as beside him was Vesemir, reading a book aloud (or parts of it at least). Jaskier overheard Vesemir mutter that this was still an impossible task, and Istredd rolled his eyes (a practised expression to that statement, Jaskier noticed, this wasn’t the first time impossibility had been mentioned).

Geralt was laying back on his hands, laughing bright. Lambert shook his head, dragging his palm down his face, and Coën – who was pressed against Eskel – went slightly red. Eskel patted his back and looked halfway torn between laughing and being supportive. They were most certainly playing Never Have I Ever, a disaster that never failed to make everyone embarrassed and/or make them all laugh to near death.

This… this was it. These people. Everyone here. Thank the fucking gods, because they were Jaskier’s family now. Forever under his protection.

He made his way over to Geralt, flopping down at his side, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “What did I miss, dear heart?”

“We’re playing Never Have I Ever, and Eskel mentioned dreaming about fucking a griffin. Except Coën interpreted it as a griffin witcher, not the monster.”

Coën rubbed his eyes. “I took a drink straight away. Everyone acted scandalised, so I had explain.” He waved his hand around. “Not my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Eskel said. “I thought I’d catch Lambert out.”

“Hey!” Lambert called. His scowl at Eskel quickly turned into a smirk. “Well, if Coën drank assuming you meant a Griffin witcher, you have to drink too, Eskel.”

Eskel rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He took a quick sip, but no more. Coën smiled bashfully, ducking his head.

Geralt studied Coën for a moment, eyes narrowed. “So, who did you fancy?”

Coën’s eyes grew wide, and he fiddled with his hands, mumbling a name. It was inaudible even to Jaskier.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“George of Kagen,” Coën said swiftly, louder this time, but still mumbled.

Eskel jostled him, gaping. “The Dragonslayer? My, my… Was he good looking?”

Coën grinned slyly, gazing at Eskel. “Not as good looking as you, my sweet.”

Lambert made a choking noise. “Oh, this is too sweet, I’m gonna be sick.”

Eskel collected up some loose stones and threw them at Lambert. “Stop being a dick.”

Geralt shook his head, laughter in his eyes. “Whose turn is it?”

“Jaskier,” Lambert said, followed by Eskel, then Coën.

Jaskier shrugged. “Well I need a drink if I’m gonna join in.”

They all blankly stared at him, judgement in their eyes. For one thing, there wasn’t a spare cup. For a second, Jaskier couldn’t get drunk. Third, they all knew he could manifest a drink from his lands that could. So he did, and they all promptly stopped staring at him.

“Okay… Never have I ever… come close to death,” he said with flourish and a big smile.

“Oh, _come on_!” Eskel exclaimed before taking a drink.

Geralt bumped his shoulder, grinning at him as they both watched the others drink. Then Geralt took a long gulp, draining his cup fully. “I came so close to death that I died.”

Jaskier kissed his cheek with a small chuckle in his throat as everyone else burst into laughter, shaking with it. Geralt appeared overly proud of the joke, laughing along with them.

Yeah… this was family, this was love, this was… _living_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it's done! I hope you enjoyed ^.^!
> 
> Come chat with me on [tumblr!! :D](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


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